


Draco Malfoy and the Tome of Entrapment

by sabershadowkat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 05:17:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 62,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4422827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabershadowkat/pseuds/sabershadowkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco has been obsessed with Harry Potter since the beginning, but how did his hatred turn into his protecting Harry above even his own safety? One thing's for sure: being trapped in a book with the person you secretly loved wasn't a picnic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Potter Rescue and Tending Society (PRATS)

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate sixth and seventh year.

 

 

_Then_

The lantern sat in the centre of the circle, casting sinister shadows on the stone walls and individual features. Lit from beneath, faces became skeletal, darkness filling in hollows of the cheeks and eyes, making them seem like spectres gathered for a ghoul hunt. Nine students sat in the small, windowless room located behind a tapestry in the Hufflepuff wing of Hogwarts castle, their expressions serious.

"Harry's insomnia has been sending him walking the castle halls during the night again." Neville Longbottom spoke quietly, but his deep, rumbling voice carried firmness and authority. In the low light, the seventeen-year-old looked like a werebeast. A mountain of a young man, with large paw-like hands and fingers, his scruffy beard and the shaggy brunet locks framing his face made his blue eyes stand out vividly. "The nightmares have been really awful recently. His scar is hurting him almost all the time, though you wouldn't know it since he never complains."

"You-Know-Who's been busy lately," Blaise Zabini said. "In his latest letter, Dad said that there was a raid on a small Muggle town called Tipton. When the Aurors showed up, the Death Eaters ambushed and slaughtered over half of them."

"Your father mentioned nothing specific about any plans in store for Harry, though?"

"No, nothing."

Pansy Parkinson spoke up. "I've heard nothing either, and I talked with my mother yesterday."

"I also found out nothing from my parents." Seated across from Pansy, Draco Malfoy shifted on the uncomfortable stone floor. Beside him, Blaise changed positions, as well, sitting on his heels. The two Ravenclaws, Mandy Brocklehurst and Orla Quirke, and Laura Madley from Hufflepuff, grouped together on the other side of Blaise, had used their bunched robes as cushions.

Neville looked across the circle at Laura and Orla. "Any progress with your project?"

"Andy Bole from Slytherin and Megan Jones from Hufflepuff." Laura rested her chin on her upraised knee. "Both are firmly on our side."

"That brings the total number of Seventh Years to eighty-six," Orla said. "Nobody wants to fight, but they will because they want the Death Eater attacks to stop as much as we do."

"Don't worry. Harry will be out there soon, a fully schooled wizard ready to give You-Know-Who's-No-Longer-Going-To-Be-Around a right good kicking," Colin Creevey declared, punching his fist in the air. His brother, Dennis, seated on Draco’s left, mimicked the motion.

"Don't count your boomslang skins before they're shed," Pansy warned. "Potter won't be fighting anyone if we don't keep him safe."

"We'll be ready to protect Harry," Colin said confidently.

"Just like the PRATS we are," Blaise added with a grin.

Orla shook her head. "That was only funny the first thousand times, Zabini."

"Says who?"

"Says all of us."

"I think it's funny," Dennis piped up.

"You've been sniffing developer again, haven't you?" Colin teased.

Draco stretched his legs in front of him and crossed his ankles, as the Potter Rescue and Tending Society (a loathed name chosen by the Weasley Twins) dissolved into a gossip session. The seventeen-year-old knew the conversation would include some seriousness again or he wouldn’t waste his time sitting on the hard floor. Protecting Potter might be a high priority, but he still had other things to do.

"Hey, Creevey Two-," Blaise turned to Dennis with a cheeky smile, "-how's Potter's social life looking?"

"Dismal," Dennis replied with mock severity. "His calendar's been dreadfully empty all term."

"Willamina tried to hook up with him, but Harry turned her down fast," Colin said. "It's like he's not interested in trying to date anymore."

"Or maybe he's found that special someone that makes his heart go pitter-pat," Dennis said.

"Only she laughed in Potter’s face." Blaise put a hand to his forehead in fake distress. "And now, our tragic hero walks the halls at midnight, pining for the love he cannot have." He sighed overdramatically. "Woe is he."

“I think it’s more that Willamina looks like a bludger hit her repeatedly in the face,” Draco muttered.

Neville addressed Mandy across the circle. "Do you think we can adjust the tracking spell on Harry? With his wandering, I'd like to be able to find him faster than we can now."

"I'm sure it’s possible," Mandy replied.

Colin shifted on the floor. “At the last DA meeting, Harry and Zach Smith were up in each others’ faces, arguing about something,” he said to Dennis and Blaise.

“That’s not unusual,” Dennis said.

“But what is unusual is that Harry also takes a very long shower after every meeting they fight at.” Colin flashed a sly grin.

“You think he’s a poof?” Blaise said.

Draco clenched his hands in his lap.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Dennis said. “We know what his Quidditch record is like with girls.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he’s gay.” Colin nudged his brother’s shoulder. “You haven’t kissed a girl, yet, and you’re not bent.”  
Pansy half-turned towards Neville, seated beside her. "Other than the normal attempted hexing and pushing Potter down the steps, it's been relatively quiet this year, which means things are bound to get sticky soon."

“We’re as prepared as we can be,” Neville said. “I’ll suggest to Harry to call more DA meetings, though.”

"Anything of note in the Daily Prophet?” Orla asked Laura.

"Nothing, really." Laura unrolled the newspaper she’d brought with her. "That horrible Umbridge woman was promoted at the Ministry to Chief Cataloguer.”

“Is it very wrong of me to wish she’d gotten eaten by something in the Forbidden Forest, instead of finding her way out?” Orla said.

“If so, it’s forgivable.” Laura glanced at Draco. “Some people are probably glad she escaped.”

“And some people need to shut their gob before I hex it closed,” Draco stated with a glare.

“My order to Weasley Wizarding Wheezes went out last week,” Colin said, joining in Neville, Mandy, and Pansy’s conversation. “I should get an owl tomorrow from Fred and George. Maybe they’ll have information for us from the Order.”

“I’ll owl Pen-Li at the Auror Department and see if she’s heard anything new,” Orla put in.

“Ask about Tipton, as well,” Neville told her. He looked around the circle. “Is there anything else we need to discuss, because I have a Herbology exam to revise for?” When he received no response, he ended the meeting. “Okay. Unless there’s an emergency, I’ll activate the medallion as soon as we have news of something or for our next monthly meeting.”

The group said their goodnights and the meeting broke. Draco didn't move as the others crept out of their hiding spot, being careful to keep quiet so as not to be seen by Filch or other students. Pansy stayed behind.

"All right, Draco, what's wrong?" Pansy asked bluntly, once they were alone. "You're very quiet tonight."

Draco glowered at the sleeping portrait of Monsieur Couloir Garde on the wall before pinching the bridge of his nose. “PRATS meetings give me a headache.”

“That’s nothing new. Try again.”

The trouble with having the same closest friend since he was four was that Pansy could read him too well. Lying to her would be futile and she’d curse him for trying. He tried anyway. “I’m concerned about what the walking camera said. We’re leaving school soon. How is Potter going to survive without anyone watching his back?"

"You're usually watching a bit lower than that, Draco," Pansy said. “And I don’t appreciate your pitiful attempt at avoiding the answer.”

Draco looked at her. She had grown into a formidable seventeen-year-old, as tough as nails, like the pug dog she resembled, but she still liked feminine things. Her dark hair was cut in a stylish bob, her makeup subtle, and her robes were neatly pressed, even this late in the evening. She also had her wand pointed at him. He slumped and confessed, “Potter may be interested in Zach Smith.”

Exasperation lined her features. “You are such a whinging Nancy boy.”

Draco straightened his shoulders and glared. “You’re the one who wanted to know.”

“I didn’t know Harry was gay,” Pansy said.

“He’s not,” Draco said. “But if he is, he can only be gay with me.”

Pansy looked at him as if he were a clingy First Year. “Then, ask him out already.”

“Right. Brilliant idea, Pans. Why didn’t I think of it myself?”

“Stop being a child,” Pansy said disdainfully. “It’s the end of Seventh Form. What do you have to lose?”

“My pride. My dignity. My reputation.”

“You don’t have any of those things now.”

Draco scowled. “I vehemently dislike you.”

“Mutual, pet,” Pansy said. “But that doesn’t excuse your cowardice.”

“I can’t, Pansy,” Draco said. “I can’t do that to my father. I can’t tarnish the family name.”

Pansy became serious. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of who you are, Draco.”

“I’m not. I’m a Malfoy.”

“A Malfoy who is also part of a secret society protecting Potter.”

“That’s bad enough as it is.”

Pansy heaved a sigh. “Draco, if you don’t do something, I’ll hex certain parts of your anatomy that don’t get any use anyway.”

Draco glowered before caving. “Potter would have to make the first move. I want a guarantee he fancies me, as well. I won’t have him spreading word around Hogwarts that I’m a bender.”

“Good.” Pansy rose gracefully and then hauled him brutishly to his feet. She was as tall as Draco and easily looked him in the eyes. “You’re going to have to tell your father sometime. If not Potter, you’ll want a relationship with someone else.”

“I’d like to avoid that little talk as long as possible, thanks,” Draco said, insides twisting at the thought. “Are we done here, or do you want to share tender feelings some more?”

Pansy gave him a look and doused the lantern on their way out. “Nox.”

 

_Now_

"You want to see skin? How's that!"

The words still rang in Draco’s ears, which burned in memory of that afternoon’s Transfiguration lesson. With a flick of a wrist, Harry Potter had transfigured Draco's robes into racy women's lingerie. The sheer pale material with puffy feathered edges had concealed nothing, but had matched the slippers on Draco's feet.

Laughter had echoed in the Transfiguration classroom. He remembered snatching his wand from the desk and quickly returned the favour.

He’d promptly wished he hadn't.

Seeing Harry barely covered in fitted scraps of leather had about killed Draco. He’d pressed against the edge of the desk, hiding his reaction. The feathers had done nothing to help.

Thankfully, McGonagall had transfigured back their uniforms before taking off fifty House points each and giving both boys detention for disrupting her class, using magic in class without permission, and public displays of near nudity. As the N.E.W.T.s were fast approaching, their detention was held in McGonagall's classroom and they were to sit silently together and revise for the tests under her supervision.

It was torture. His nerves were stretched taut. He kept fisting his hand in the material of his school robe, causing wrinkles. Having to sit right next to Harry in silence was driving Draco batty.

Potter smelled good.

Draco’s thoughts drifted back to earlier, to skin and leather. He should’ve looked ridiculous because Harry was short and wiry, but even with his messy black hair and owl-eyed glasses, the fire in his brilliant green eyes, the thin line of his mouth, and his powerful stance indicated that his deceptively delicate appearance hid an impressive strength. Draco would be having Master and slave fantasies for a while.

Harry hummed nearly inaudibly while doodling on his parchment. Draco clenched his jaw and shifted on his chair, his trousers tight beneath his school robe. He didn't know whether to sigh or smack Harry across the back of the head.

He wondered if Harry hummed when he kissed.

Detention was never going to end.

Draco sometimes he wished he hadn't met Harry. He could have anyone he wanted; he was that years' Slytherin centrefold, after all. He didn't like girls, though, and despite the rumors, that wasn't factual public knowledge.

But even though he thought about sex nearly twenty-four hours a day, it was Harry he wanted. It was frustrating and annoying, especially since the git didn’t want him in return. Then, there was the fact that Harry was a rule-breaking, impetuous idiot who went looking for danger to give it a handshake. He also insisted on being friends with that blasted Weasel, he more often than not ignored Neville, he always caught the snitch (unless he was unconscious or off the team), and he never combed his hair.

"All right, gentlemen. You may go," Professor McGonagall said finally.

Oh, thank Salazar.

Draco stood, happy that his school robe hid certain problems. "About time. Studying with you has actually made me dumber."

"How can you tell the difference?" Harry said, shoving his books in a satchel.

"Funny, Potter. Have you been taking lessons on how to be pithy?"

"If you two wouldn't mind taking your conversation elsewhere," McGonagall said pointedly.

"Sorry, Professor." Harry looked briefly at Draco, as if he had stepped in something foul, before heading out of the Transfiguration classroom.

Draco inhaled and exhaled slowly. The tension from sitting right beside Harry for hours drained away. Neville and the Creevey brothers would take over Potter-sitting for the weekend, leaving Draco free to regroup, get the revising done that he hadn't been able to do in detention, and plan for Monday's confrontation with Harry.

Congratulating himself on surviving another day without going mad, Draco finished gathering his things and left the classroom. He promptly walked into the Gryffindor Trio.

Draco pulled up short of bumping into Harry. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood outside the classroom door, around the corner to the left, all still wearing their school uniforms of black robes over Muggle shirts and trousers, or skirt in Hermione's case. Draco scowled at the three, hiding his surprise. "You're blocking the hall."

"There's only the rest of hallway you can use," Harry said, gesturing to the otherwise empty hall.

"But I wish to walk this way," Draco stated haughtily.

Ron moved forward, using his ridiculous height to try to intimidate Draco. He crossed his arms and glowered. "You'll have to go through us then, Malfoy."

Ron Weasley was rather daunting, unless, of course, you were Draco Malfoy. The redhead towered over most of the students and professors at school, and with the amount of food he put away as well as playing Quidditch, he was quite bulky as well. One of Draco's favourite insults was to ask if Ron knew of his mum's affair with Hagrid. This usually caused Weasley's freckled face to turn purple and his eyes to bulge. It was an amusing sight.

Draco weighed the pros and cons of getting into it with the Gryffindor Trio right now. McGonagall would give detention, since she was certain to hear, considering they were directly outside her door. He’d been up since half-five that morning and it was the weekend and Draco really needed to get caught up on things he hadn't been doing, like study and sleep.

The decision was taken out of Draco's hands when a deep, rumbling voice said from behind him, "What's going on?"

Draco turned to the newcomer. Wearing a plain, dark brown robe, Neville clutched a large book to his chest. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand before tugging on the tip.

"None of your business, Longbottom," Draco sneered in answer. "Scurry on to the library, or wherever it was you were going."

Message received, meeting set.

Neville straightened his posture, going on the feigned offensive, gaze darting between his Housemates and Draco. Now, he would be the person to intimidate Draco, if Draco was one to succumb to intimidation. “I think you should be the one to leave, Malfoy.”

“You, think? I didn’t know you were able to do that,” Draco mocked.

“He’s smart enough not to go one against four,” Ron said. Harry stood beside him, arms folded over his chest.

“It takes all four of you to come up against one of me?” Draco said. “I’m flattered.”

“Any one of us could handle you alone, Malfoy," Hermione said.

Draco gave Hermione the once-over, a smirk on his face. "Is that an offer, Granger?"

Hermione's face turned red in anger. Shorter than Harry, barely coming up to Draco's chin, she would be pretty if she wasn’t a Mudblood, if one ignored her bushy mane of hair. But Draco wouldn't shag her even if he weren't gay, because the know-it-all would probably lecture him on what he was doing wrong.

Draco circled the Gryffindor Trio with a mocking laugh. Neville would have activated the medallion if it were an emergency, but he obviously wanted to speak with Draco, so getting into a fight wouldn't be prudent.

"Just you wait, Malfoy," Ron threatened, his voice carrying after Draco. "You'll get yours for that."

"I can hardly wait," Draco muttered sarcastically as he rounded the corner, heading for the Slytherin dorms.

The passage to the Slytherin House led Draco directly into a party in the Slytherin common room. Upper Form students gathered in small groups, talking animatedly. Conjured wizarding music played loudly, echoing off the stone walls of the dungeon. Some students danced, some were snogging, and others were terrorizing a mouse.

Dressed in a slimming hunter green robe with silver accents, Pansy detached herself from her friends and met Draco as he entered. "How was detention?" she asked.

"Torture," Draco answered succinctly. "Let me dump my gear and then we'll go for a walk."

Pansy raised a sculpted eyebrow in silent curiosity. "I'll wait here."

Draco wasn't gone but a minute. After making sure he had his wand, he and Pansy left the Slytherin dorm for the library.

"Longbottom approached me in the hall after detention, in front of Potter, Granger, and Weasley," Draco informed her, their long strides carrying them quickly to their destination. “He signalled a message he wanted to meet.”

"Really." Pansy's brow creased. "I wonder what for."

"He probably lost his comb in all that hair and needs help finding it,” Draco said. There hadn't been an emergency meeting with any member of PRATS since Sixth Year, when Colin had photographed Harry and a spectre appeared in the developed picture with him.

On Friday nights, the library was nearly empty. A few overly ambitious Ravenclaws sat together at a table near Madam Pince's office. The librarian herself could be seen sitting at her desk through the open door of her office, and she cast a cursory glance at Draco and Pansy as they entered.

Neville had secluded himself at a table far from the library entrance, Pince's office, and the table of Ravenclaws. Tall bookshelves surrounded the table on all sides, connecting at right angles at two of the four corners, offering privacy. Several books were piled on the table and Neville appeared to be doing revision, his quill scratching audibly against the scroll in the quiet of the library. He looked up when Draco and Pansy rounded the bookshelf, his features tense. He relaxed when he saw them, and the wand he'd been holding out of sight was tucked up his sleeve.

"Longbottom," Draco acknowledged. "What's the message?"

Neville stood, pulled a certain book from the middle of the pile, and set it on the table. Draco came to stand beside Neville, while Pansy stayed near the aisle where they entered the study area, keeping sentry, but still paying attention to the other two.

"I nicked this from Trey Bleckly," Neville told Draco, tapping the book. "Dennis overheard Bleckly talking about how he had to wait in the owlry because he was to receive something from his aunt to give to Harry. I went to the owlry to check it out. Sure enough, Bleckly was there and this book is what he got."

The book was an odd size, wider than standard wizarding books, but very light in weight. The cover was made of deep brown leather, cracked and worn in places, with three tarnished brass bindings wrapping over the spine. A raised, inverted triangle graced the centre and the title, Entrapment, was branded across the bottom of the cover.

“Do we know why Bleckly’s aunt would be sending something for Potter?” Pansy asked.

“I don’t know who his aunt is.” Draco bent closer to examine the cover. “I’ll ask around Slytherin tonight and find out.”

"The book’s got a ton of magic resonating from it." Neville pulled his wand from his sleeve. "Detectum." The book began to glow a solid blue in colour, indicating the presence of strong magic, more than a normal wizarding book. It faded after a few seconds.

Draco removed his own wand from his belt and cast a different spell on the book. "Revelo." It didn’t work at first, and he scowled. “Revelo.” Red letters scrolled across the cover and formed the words 'Tome of Entrapment.'

"Imagine that, the title matches its purpose," Pansy commented dryly.

"I wonder how it works," Neville said. "I haven't opened it yet."

"I wouldn't recommend it, then," Pansy said. "Not without casting the spell-muting charm first."

"Did anyone see you take this?" Draco asked Neville.

"Yes, Malfoy. I walked right into the Slytherin dorm on a Friday night and took the book out of Bleckly's hands with a smile and a thank you."

Draco felt a headache coming on. "Longbottom."

"I followed Bleckly back to the dorm, perched in his room, and waited until he joined the party in your common room to make off with it. Then, I ran into you in the hall," Neville said. He scratched his scruffy chin with the tip of his wand. "Have you noticed that rarely anyone ever bothers to look up?"

"Longbottom!" Draco said Neville's name like a curse. "What were you thinking? If anyone would’ve seen you, they’d have caught and dissected you like a mouse."

Neville levelled him with a look. "I was thinking that you were playing footsie with Harry in detention, Pansy and Blaise were who-knows-where, and I didn't want to chance Bleckly hiding the book where we couldn't find it or passing it to Harry."

"All right. Reluctantly, I admit that makes sense." Draco pointed his wand at Neville in emphasis. "But don’t do it again, or next time I’ll hand you to the other Slytherins myself."

Neville raised his hands in the air, his eyes widening with fake fear. "I'm s-s-so scared, Malfoy."

"Get away from him!"

Draco, Neville, and Pansy jumped, Pansy's wand immediately in her hand. At the opposite end of the table, Harry, Ron, and Hermione appeared from the other opening to the study area, that led from the back of the library. All three had their wands out and ready to use.

Draco wondered if the day would ever end.

"Beat it, Malfoy," Ron ordered. Neville backed towards the trio, wand pointed towards Draco.

"The library is open to all students, Weasley," Draco said. “It’s the only way you can afford to read texts for lessons.”

Ron’s ears grew red. Harry narrowed his eyes behind his glasses. "Get lost, Malfoy."

“Get stuffed, Potter,” Draco said. Pansy drew up beside him, wand at ready.

“We shouldn’t fight in the library. We don’t want the books to be damaged,” Hermione said, from next to Harry. “I’ll call Madam Pince over.”

“Hiding behind the librarian, how very brave. I'll just take this-," Draco picked up the Tome of Entrapment, "-and leave you to your saviors, Longbottom."

"Accio book!" Harry cast before Draco took a single step. The Tome of Entrapment was torn from Draco and flew towards Harry's outstretched hand.

Draco was alarmed. They didn't know what would happen if Harry touched the book. Neville had the same thought. He cried out, stumbling forward like he'd been pushed, and crashed into Harry. Harry fell against the table, knocking over a chair. Neville snatched the book from the air before landing heavily on his knees on the floor.

Hermione and Ron searched behind them, but of course saw no one. Draco met Neville's gaze briefly, in relief.

Pansy recovered first and snickered. "Neville can't even stand still without falling on his face."

"Thanks, Harry, for rescuing my library book," Neville mumbled, climbing to his feet. He set the book on top of the other library books on the table.

Draco took his cue. "As entertaining as this has been..." He saluted the Gryffindors with his wand, knowing that Neville would keep the book safe, and he and Pansy made their escape.

They were barely around the corner of the bookshelf when they heard, “I wonder why Malfoy wanted this book.”

"Hermione, no! Don't open that!"

Draco and Pansy exchanged panicked looks and darted back around the corner, just as the study area exploded in a flash of brilliant white light.


	2. Trapped

_Then_

 

Eleven-year-old Draco Malfoy crept silently upstairs, sticking to the shadows of the barely lit Gryffindor tower. The portraits lining the moving stairwell were asleep, soft snores, snorts, and wheezing coming from the people within the gilded frames. The second corridor from the Gryffindor House entrance was his goal, as he had confirmed the rumor that Harry Potter sat there on nights he could not sleep.

Draco had been patiently waiting to execute a perfect plan. It would make up for his having to go into the Forbidden Forest on detention and also make everyone in Gryffindor hate Harry more. He would catch and hex Harry and then leave a note for Filch on where to find the Boy Who Was Petrified. Harry would lose House points _again_ and the Gryffindors would be in the negative numbers; plus, Harry would get more detention. Draco could then brag to his Slytherin Housemates how he was the one to get Harry into trouble.

Draco arrived at the second corridor and slipped down the hall on silent feet. He heard Harry speaking before he spotted the light from a lantern. Cautiously, he crept forward and found a hiding spot in an empty alcove across from the bend in the hall. He could see Harry clearly from his vantage point without being seen in return and this might be the opportunity he'd been awaiting.

"You mostly sit around all day and gossip," one of the portraits said, the witches nearest to her nodding enthusiastically. "Who are fighting, who are scheming, are any new romances brewing?"

Harry sat on the stone hall floor, both knees pulled tight to his chest, as if he were trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. His hair stuck up every which way - another thing about him that annoyed Draco to no end - and he wore overly large, hideously striped Muggle pyjamas.

Most of the people from the portraits had gathered in the courtyard of one painting, hanging on the wall across from Harry. Wizards and witches of various ages sat in the grass or on white benches in the faux sunshine. A tan stone wall rose up behind them, with creeping ivy climbing towards the invisible sky.

"Sometimes we catch wind of something potentially dangerous and we inform the Headmaster," a very young wizard said. "You'd be surprised what gets said in front of us, because people forget we're here."

Draco drew his wand, running through a list of spells he'd memorized from a book his father had given him called _Devious and Deadly Disasters_. He didn't get to use any, however. Down the corridor from Harry, barely visible in the lantern light, Draco saw another student aim a wand in Harry's direction. Almost immediately, the large, empty picture on the wall above Harry's head began to shudder.

"Any chance Snape talked about what’s on the next Potions exam?" Harry said.

Draco flicked and swished, and hissed, " _Wingardium leviosa_."

“Harry, dear, you’d best move. I think that picture has come loose above your head,” one of the wizards said.

Harry looked up instead of moving, like an idiot. Draco’s charm caught the empty picture just as it began to fall. He wasn't very good at this particular spell and it took nearly all his concentration to re-hook the picture on the wall. By then, Harry had stood and was examining the picture frame. Out of the corner of Draco’s eye, he saw the student who'd upset the picture slink back into the shadows.

"Oh no, you don't." Draco released his spell, waited a beat to make certain the picture hook held and that Harry didn’t pull it down on top of his head anyway, and then shot off running from the alcove. He heard Harry shout “Oi!” from behind, but didn’t stop. He'd memorized the students' map of the school upon arriving at Hogwarts and knew where to find a hidden set of stairs that emerged by the Great Hall.

Draco took the tower steps three at a time, uncaring if he woke any of the portraits as he rushed downstairs. His night robes flapped as he dashed around the corner, out of the stairwell, and down the main hall. Hanging lanterns lit the corridor every few meters, sitting high on the stone walls, illuminating his path. He ran past the double doorway to the Great Hall and skidded to a stop beside the arched entry to the stairs.

Draco breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth to stop his panting. He could hear footsteps descending in the stairwell. He straightened his robes quickly, checked that his hair was perfect as usual, and leaned casually with one shoulder against the wall, arms folded and wand hidden in his hand.

The scary realization that it might be Filch coming down the stairs skittered through Draco's mind, but it didn't matter now. He waited and was relieved when it was the student. More specifically, it was Jonathan Keiser, a Hufflepuff Fifth Year that Draco knew through his attending social parties with his parents.

A sneer curved Draco's lips and he cleared his throat. "Nice night for a stroll, eh, Keiser?"

Keiser started minutely before a scowl crossed his rat-like, spotty face. "What are you doing here, Malfoy? Isn't it past ickle kiddies’ bedtime?"

"Then what are you doing up?" Draco said with an arch of a brow.

Keiser's eyes narrowed at the insult. "Mind your own business, prat, before I mind it for you."

Draco swallowed. Keiser stood twice his size and had hands the size of plates. Still, he managed not to squeak when he said, "Is that supposed to scare me?"

Keiser loomed closer, using his size to try and intimidate Draco. It was rather effective. "I ought to curse your mouth shut."

"And you know what will happen if you do, once I tell my father," Draco said in a nervous rush. "Same goes for if you hurt Potter."

Keiser looked startled. "Potter?"

"Yes, Potter." Draco gained a little confidence. "Starts with 'P,' ends with a water mammal. Has split ends and a poor wardrobe. Sound familiar?"

"Why do you care if I hurt Potter?" Keiser smiled maliciously. "Does Malfoy have a crush on wittle Hawwy?"

Draco's wand pointed directly between Keiser's eyes in a flash. "Take that back, Keiser.”

Keiser's nasty smile didn't abate as he knocked Draco's wand aside, raised his own, and cast, " _Tarantallegra_!"

Draco began to dance uncontrollably. It was juvenile, but effective in making Draco burn with humiliation for not even receiving a proper curse. Keiser laughed and walked away, calling over his shoulder, "Good luck, Malfoy. I'm not the only one who's aiming for Potter."

It took Draco an entire _minuet_ to recall the words to end the jinx. " _Finite incantatem_ ," he cast on himself. His dancing legs stopped and he glared in the direction Keiser had gone. If Keiser thought that he or others were going to get Harry, they were in for a surprise.

No one but him could hurt Potter and he’d see to it no one else did.

 

 

 _Now_

 

"Potter?" The name was out of Draco's mouth before his vision cleared from the bright flash. He had an instant of horrifying dread when he saw everyone but Harry, until he heard Harry cursing quietly behind him. He turned quickly and saw Harry standing there, apparently unharmed.

"All right, Harry?" Neville voiced the question Draco wasn't allowed to ask.

"I'm fine, Neville," Harry said. "Ron, Hermione?"

"We're fine, Harry," Hermione said. Ron nodded in agreement.

"I'm fine, too, thank you for asking," Pansy sniped.

Hermione looked around slowly. "Where are we?"

The library was gone. Around them, there was only white. No discernable horizon line separated the ground from the sky; just pure, nearly blinding whiteness in all directions, marred only by the six Seventh Years. They cast no shadows, though the ground felt solid beneath Draco's feet.

Draco noted that the Gryffindor Trio had moved closer together, with Neville within arm's distance. They were not subtle in the distrustful looks they gave Draco and Pansy.   Everyone held his or her wands.

" _Tabula designare_." Pansy pointed her wand at the ground, casting the plotting spell. Magic seemed to work wherever they were. However, instead of a map drawing with their location, black squiggly lines of nonsense appeared on the white ground. "We're somewhere unplottable."

"Hogwarts is unplottable. Perhaps we're still there," Hermione said. "We couldn't have Apparated, since no one can Apparate on Hogwarts grounds.”

“Maybe it was a portkey," Harry suggested.

Hermione shook her head. "I didn't feel a pulling behind my navel and none of us were touching the same object, unless you count the library floor. It wasn't until I opened that book that anything happened."

Pansy exchanged a look with Draco. "The Tome of Entrapment."

"The what?" Harry said.

“The Tome of Entrapment, are you certain?” Hermione said, a frown creasing her brow. Pansy nodded.

“What exactly is it?” Ron said.

“It’s a book,” Hermione replied. Draco could see pages turning in her head. “According to Frieda Valise's _Cursed Containers, Bewitched Boxes, and Hexed Handbags_ , the Tome of Entrapment is a Dark Arts artefacts that traps the person who opens the book, and those standing within a certain distance, inside its pages."

Neville gave Draco a subtle look, reading: 'guess we know how the book works now, eh?'

Harry glanced around. "This doesn't look like any book that I've been in."

"I knew it!" Ron exclaimed, glaring at Draco. "It's Malfoy's fault. He tricked us into saving that book for Neville."

Harry crossed his arms and somehow looked down his nose at Draco, despite being a whole head shorter than the Slytherin. "Malfoy, is this true?"

"No," Draco said shortly.

Harry studied him a long moment, nodded slightly, and turned away.

" _Tabula finis_." Pansy was irritated when the territory mapping spell didn't work and stomped her foot. It made no noise on the ground.

"I don’t understand why it was at the library,” Hermione said, more to herself than the others. “It’s supposed to be in the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry.”

“Maybe it got shipped over by mistake,” Ron said.

Hermione shook her head. “That’s impossible. The items in the Department of Mysteries are catalogued and cross-checked now on a regular basis, ever since we were there in Fifth Year.”

Draco stiffened, volatility churning inside him. He glared darkly at Harry. Pansy murmured, “Don’t.”

“Let’s forget how the book got to the library for now,” Neville said, stepping between Harry and Draco, blocking their view of each other. “Hermione, do you know how to get out of here?”

"There was nothing specific listed in the account I read,” Hermione said. "The few people that had escaped didn’t know how it happened.”

Ron eyed Draco. "Well, we won't remain stuck in here, despite what some people had hoped."

Draco looked flatly at him. "Darn. My nefarious plan has been foiled."

Ron's wand shot up, but Harry prevented him from hexing Draco. "Don't, Ron. Malfoy's just as trapped as we are.”

“If he is behind this, that's revenge enough,” Hermione said.

"You idiots honestly believe that we're stupid enough to be caught in our own trap?" Pansy said.

"Then why were you trying to get the book from Neville?" Hermione asked pointedly.

"Because, Granger," Draco lied through his teeth, "I recognized the book for what it was and wanted it for future use."

“Your Daddy sent it to you, didn’t he?” Ron said acidly. “We know he’s been there before. Too bad this time he didn’t get sent back to Azkaban, where he belongs.”

“Too bad _your_ father didn’t die the last time _he_ was there,” Draco sneered. “Snake venom must not work on traitor blood.”

Ron’s face reddened with anger and his wand shot up. Harry didn’t stop him from casting the Bat-Bogey Hex. Draco slammed his eyes shut and bit back his whimper as bogies ripped from his nose. He felt the grotty wings beat against his face as the bogies attacked, scratching his skin.

Pansy rescued him quickly. “ _Finite_.”

Draco opened his eyes and glared hatefully at Ron. “Always nicking from those better than you. And you can’t even perform the spell properly. It took nearly an hour to stop your sister’s hex.”

Ron lifted his wand. “I can always try again.”

“No, Ron.” Hermione tugged his arm. “Fighting won’t get us out of here any faster.”

“That goes for you, too, even though Weasley deserves it,” Pansy said to Draco, swiftly using her wand to heal his face. She lowered her voice. “This book was meant for Potter, remember? I haven’t spent the past four years tending to him for him to snuff it now.”

The danger hit Draco in the stomach like a physical blow. He looked around quickly, head jerking one way to the other, squinting at the bright white nothing. “We have to get out of here.”

Neville, lurking behind Pansy, overheard him and nodded. He turned to Hermione. “What do you know about the book?”

“Not much, I’m unhappy to say,” Hermione replied. “In the book I read, those that had escaped reported that they wandered in heavy woods for a while, seeing beasts and animals they recognized and some they didn’t, and then somehow managed to get free.”

"So, now what?" Ron asked.

“We can’t Apparate,” Harry said. “I just tried.”

Draco already knew the answer, but he asked anyway. "Longbottom, does anyone else know about the book?"

"Um, no," Neville said. "I mean, maybe. If it's not a library book, Madam Pince might figure it out, but…"

"Right." Pince would know the book wasn't a library book when she saw it and give it to Dumbledore, and as soon as he'd noticed his precious Potter was missing along with his right and left arms, Granger and Weasley, he'd search for a way to get them free.

"Dumbledore will notice us missing," Ron said, echoing Draco's thoughts. "I'm sure he can get us out."

"And if he can't?" Pansy said.

“Then, we’ll have to rescue ourselves.” Neville’s lips twitched, as he glanced at Draco and Pansy. “It’s not like we’re incompetent prats.”

Pansy tittered quietly. Draco made a subtle rude gesture at him.

“I guess our choices would be to start walking or wait here,” Hermione said.

Harry shrugged. "I'm up for a walk. Maybe Dumbledore will free us along the way, but if he can't, waiting around won't get us back to Hogwarts."

"I agree," Hermione said. "The Headmaster will have his research cut out for him, from what little I’ve read."

"Which way do we go, then?" Ron gestured at the vast emptiness. "It all looks the same."

"Well, we are in a book," Hermione said. "There is only one direction it can be read, from beginning to end. Therefore, any direction we go will eventually lead to the end. We just have to keep going until we reach it."

“Some books start in the middle,” Neville said. “And you can jump around in research books.”

“No matter where you start, that’s still the beginning for a reader,” Hermione said.

"Let's go this way," Harry suggested, pointing to his right. He tucked away his wand and immediately started in the direction he'd indicated, assuming everyone would follow him.

"Harry!" Hermione sounded like an exasperated mother. "We can't just go off willy-nilly. We need to make a plan. We don't want to go in circles, do we? We also need to be careful. This is an enchanted place. Remember what I just said? Who knows what we might encounter."

"I thought you knew everything, Granger," Pansy said.

Hermione's nose went up. "From what I have read, I wish us to be cautious until we know our environment and the possible dangers."

“Thankfully, it seems magic works here,” Harry said.

Hermione pointed her wand at her feet. " _Tractus_." She took a step backwards. Two glowing footprints marked the white ground where she'd been standing.

"What's that spell for?" Neville asked.

"To mark our path," Hermione answered. "This way, we know where we've been in case we want to back-track and make sure we aren't going in circles, or if someone gets lost from the group they can find us again."

"Plus, breadcrumbs usually get eaten," Harry said with a quirk of a smile. Hermione echoed it, and they both looked at Ron.

"I was hungry," Ron blustered, ears reddening. “You had some, too, Harry.”

Pansy stepped closer to Draco and lowered her voice. "What do you think, Draco?" she asked.

"I think we're royally buggered," Draco said, glancing at Harry. "At least we're in here, too. I'd be a bloody wreck if I was on the outside, trying to find a way to get him out."

"You really are a sad sort, Draco.”

"So you keep reminding me." Draco's eyes swept over Harry from messy hair to ragged-edged hemline of his school robe. Draco looked down at his own well-tailored school robe, the tips of his shined boots peeking out from under the crisp hem. His hair was still perfectly slicked; Pansy would have told him if it wasn't.

Draco looked at Harry again. He was bent over tying the laces on the Muggle trainers he wore, giving Draco the perfect view of his-

"All right, everyone keep your eyes out for anything," Hermione said.

Draco jerked his gaze up, ignoring Pansy's snicker.

"We'll head in this direction." Hermione indicated the way Harry had originally been going. She turned to the two Slytherins. "Malfoy and Pansy can lead."

"You don't trust us at your back?" Draco pressed his hand to his chest. "I'm offended."

"Just move, Malfoy," Harry said. "I'd like to get out of here today, if you don't mind."

Draco snap saluted Harry with his wand, and he and Pansy started walking. He heard the Gryffindor Trio follow behind them, though their footsteps were silent. Draco was actually happier being in the lead with Pansy. He knew Neville would guard the rear.

"I still think this is all Malfoy's fault."

Draco rolled his eyes. “That’s because you’re dim, Weasley. Your mother had so many children, the brain allotment was used up by the time you came along.”

“Shut up, Malfoy.”

“She might’ve been able to buy you a used brain, but the bargain bin was still too expensive for her purse.”

“Then what happened with you? Your parents are rich and you don’t have a brain at all, or a personality,” Harry chimed in.

“But he does have plenty of hair care products,” Ron said.

Pansy snickered. Draco glared at her. She smiled innocuously. It was a horrible look on her.

"At least this is more interesting than looking up Gnomatic Equations in the library," Harry said.

"Definitely," Ron said. "Though we probably shouldn't say so in front of Hermione."

"I'm walking right beside you," Hermione said.

"And I was really looking forward to cracking the books, too," Ron corrected.

Hermione made a sound of fond exasperation and got onto more serious business. "Neville, where did you find the book to begin with?" Around them, the silent whiteness continued.

"I don't know," Neville said. "I guess it was one that I pulled from the shelf."

"A Tome of Entrapment sitting on the library bookshelf, where anyone could find it?" Hermione hummed. "That's very odd."

"Is it?"

"Yes. Imagine if you were alone, Neville, and opened the book."

"Or worse, if you were just with Pansy and Malfoy," Ron added helpfully.

"Tell me again why I can't kill Weasley?" Draco said sotto voce to Pansy.

"He's Potter's best friend," Pansy said.

"Potter has a spare."

"Is it me, or is it getting foggy?" Pansy said.

Pansy's non sequitur threw Draco for a moment, before he glanced around. The air was becoming thicker and foggy as Pansy said, most noticeable as it swirled around their robes. He heard their footsteps now, too, squishing softly, though the ground was still solid beneath their feet.

The Gryffindors noticed the changes as well and slowed their pace. Overhead, the sky became darker.

Draco and Pansy glanced at each other and split apart for better coverage and to make less of a target.

"Hermione?" Harry's voice seemed very loud all of a sudden.

"It must be the book," Hermione said. "Be careful."

Draco ventured a look over his shoulder. The Gryffindor Trio had moved closer together. Neville had dropped back slightly, behind Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

The six continued onward. The fog seemed to coalesce around their legs, and from the smoky mist appeared thick, moss-covered trees, with deep green leafy branches that partially blocked the dark, stormy sky. Vines stretched between the trees, and waist-high stalks of thin-bladed grass grew sporadically from the wet, muddy, leaf-strewn ground. Sounds of night animals reached their ears; rustling, chitters, screeches, and hoots.

Another glance behind him showed Draco that the previous white blankness of wherever they were had disappeared. He could only see trees, fog, and Hermione's glowing footprints. It wasn't so dark that they needed wand-light, but it was definitely night.

"Any clue where we are now?" Ron questioned.

"It reminds me of the Forbidden Forest," Harry said.

A loud animal cry ripped through the air.

Ron gulped. "You don't think anything like Aragog is here, do you?"

"The shadows are shifting," Neville said.

Neville's words were PRATS code, meaning that he had seen something, but couldn't identify what it was.

"What is it, Neville?" Hermione said.

"Eyes, I think."

" _Lumos_." Ron's wand-light cast a glow around the woody area.

"Weasley!" Pansy exclaimed, glancing over her shoulder. "Put that out!"

"Why?"

"Because, you tit, light will not only attract predators, it now makes it harder for us to see them."

"She's right, Ron," Hermione said.

"Okay. I'll put it out." Ron extinguished the wand-light, and suddenly, it was much, much darker outside. He gulped audibly. "This is not good."

They went silent, listening keenly for an attack. The sounds of the forest seemed to grow louder with the lack of light. A particularly high-pitched screech caused Draco to jump before he identified the cry as a bird of some sort, perhaps an owl or nighthawk. If the book even included those birds.

Draco shifted uneasily. That was an unpleasant thought. The book they were trapped in could have no normal animals in it.   There was the possibility of fantastical beasts created solely by the book's "author," with six eyes, tentacles, and big, sharp teeth.

"Granger, remind me to kill you when we get out of here," Draco said.

"What did I do?" Hermione said.

"What did you do?" Draco's words were frosty. "You opened the book, you stupid bint, and trapped us in it!"

"I thought it was a library book!”

“Any _real_ witch would’ve known it was a dark artefact on sight. But that’s right, you’re nothing but a lowly Mudblood, so you’ll never be one of those.”

“Hermione is a better witch than you’d ever be,” Harry stated.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not a witch,” Draco said.

Ron smirked from beside Harry. “That’s not what I hear.”

"Will you all please shut your gobs?" Pansy hissed. "Any animals out there looking for a free meal don't need to see to find us with you two yammering on."

"Pansy's right," Neville's tone was sharp. "Very, very right. So right that everyone had better scatter."

"What?"

"Scatter!"

Draco spun in Neville's direction and could just make out blacker shapes against the darkness - Neville and a four-legged animal running at him.

"Parkinson!" Draco sprinted towards Neville, knowing that Pansy would intuitively understand and push Harry, Hermione, and Ron apart so they were no longer a single target. She would also stick to Harry.

"Hey! Watch it!"

" _Stupefy_!" Neville cast at the animal. The animal had leapt, however, and the spell missed its target. Neville cursed, threw himself bodily to the side, and hit the ground shoulder first.

"Neville!" Hermione ran towards him.

Draco aimed at the spot the animal would hopefully land. " _Petrificus_!"

The spell hit, and the animal landed in a sprawl, stiff front legs skidding in the mud. Not knowing how long the animal would be stunned, Draco cast another spell. " _Wingardium leviosa_!" The animal floated up from the ground. "Light!"

" _Lumos_." Neville rose to his feet, holding his wand aloft, with the tip glowing brightly. Squinting, he glanced at the animal before turning to scan their surroundings for further attack, Hermione beside him. Pansy stood with Harry far to one side. Ron was near where he had previously been. Both he and Hermione cast _lumos_. "It's a dog!"

Brown and grey, with floppy ears and droopy eyes, it looked like a bloodhound. The dog's curved tail wagged like crazy despite the animal being suspended in the air. A collar circled his neck, though no tags dangled from it.

"Put him down, Malfoy," Harry said, moving closer.

Draco shot a look at Pansy, who aimed her wand at the dog, and then lowered the dog to the ground.

The dog had a moment of trouble getting his feet under him at the spell's sudden end, but when he did, he bounced like he was on springs, barked excitedly, and nearly bowled over Harry. The wagging tail and Harry's raspy laughter saved the dog from being zapped by Pansy.

"Help! I'm being slobbered on!" The dog planted his paws on Harry's chest, nearly standing as tall as the teen on his hind legs, and licked, sniffed, and snorted Harry's face. Harry laughed and scrubbed the dog under his floppy ears.

Draco was not jealous.

Pansy lowered her wand. Hermione and Ron went to pet the dog, which enthusiastically greeted them both. Neville looked off into the dark woods, reminding Draco that they weren't necessarily safe.

"I wonder where he came from," Ron said, petting the dog.

"A bloodhound is a type of hunting dog," Hermione said. "It stands to reason that a hunter is nearby."

"What's your name, boy, huh?" Harry asked the dog. He was licked in response and sputtered. "Grotty! I've been French kissed by a dog!"

"Check his collar," Hermione instructed.

Harry turned the collar on the dog's neck. Letters were burned into the dark leather. "The dog's name is… Dog."

Dog barked, slipped past the Gryffindor Trio, and bounded towards Pansy. Pansy gave Dog the evil eye. "If you jump on me with those dirty paws, I will transfigure you into a meat byproduct and feed you to Longbottom."

Dog skidded to a stop, either able to understand English or with a superior sense of self-preservation. He reversed course, took one look at Draco, and wisely chose Neville as his next petter.

"Hi, Dog." Neville's hand was as big as Dog's skull, as he patted the top of Dog's head. Dog licked Neville's palm and he boomed in laughter, wiping his hand on his ground-slogged brown robe. "That tickled."

"Should we go and find his owner?" Ron asked.

"That would make the most sense," Hermione said. "We can return Dog and, if we’re lucky, find out more about the book we're in."

"C'mere, Dog," Harry called. Dog bounded over to Harry's side, tail wagging like mad. "Dog, can you take us to your master? Take us to your master, boy."

Dog barked twice and darted past Draco into the darkness. He barked again, perpendicular to the glowing path of Hermione's footprints.

"Are you sure he's going to lead us somewhere?" Ron said.

"I say we follow." Harry stared in the direction Dog had gone. Draco noticed he seemed very attached to the animal already and wondered if it had anything to do with Sirius Black.

"Let's still be careful," Neville said. "The dog was friendly, but there might be other animals out there."

"Not to mention, the hunter might not welcome us with open arms," Harry said.

" _Lumos_." Harry raised his wand and took the lead. Neville scrambled to his side. Hermione looked at Draco until he made a disgusted sound, gestured to Pansy, and the two Slytherins followed Harry and Neville, leaving Hermione and Ron to bring up the rear.

The forest seemed denser and the soggy ground harder to traverse now that they were using wand-light to see. The cries of night birds punctuated the darkness. Dog ran ahead and came back to the group, making sure they were still following. He led them on a relatively straight path for approximately ten minutes until they came to a dark campsite.

In a small clearing a metal pot sat in the centre of a stone fire ring, with a lumpy bedroll lain out beside it. A worn backpack rested at the foot of the bedroll, its contents strewn on the ground near it: a metal plate and utensils, food wrappers, a leather-bound journal, a quill, and a capped inkbottle.

"Hello?" Harry called quietly. "Is someone here?"

"We brought your dog back," Hermione said a bit louder.

Pansy nudged Draco and nodded to the bedroll. Draco took a closer look, as Pansy moved to the foot of the bedroll, her wand at the ready. Someone was inside the bedroll.

Dog flopped onto the ground near the head of the bedroll, rested his chin on his forelegs, and whined softly. "What is it, boy?" Harry said, starting for him.

Draco stepped purposely in front of Harry, blocking him from the bedroll. Harry shot him a dirty look and went to the dog.

"Someone's in the bedroll," Draco said loudly, to discourage any sort of surprise attack, as well as warning the others. He nudged the bedroll with his foot. "Hello, are you awake?"

"He is now, with your kicking him," Ron said sarcastically.

"Then why isn't he getting up?" Draco crouched, grabbed the flap of the bedroll, and flipped it open. He reared back, falling onto his bottom and scooting quickly away. His heart pounded in fright. "Oh, yuck."

They'd found Dog's master. White, scraggy hair covered the man's head. Grey-coloured skin stretched tightly over the bones of his cheeks. Open, sunken eyes, wrinkled like dried grapes, stared sightlessly at the night sky. A beetle crawled from his left nostril into his open mouth, past cracked lips.

"I guess we won't be asking him any questions," Pansy said, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

Draco's lips twitched in amusement, even as Hermione scolded, "Pansy! That isn't funny." A glance at Harry showed he was scowling at Pansy, his jaw tight. Neville, hovering over Harry, looked sad and turned away.   Ron had blanched and backed from the bedroll.

“It’s only a corpse, you ninnies. It’s not going to attack you.” Pansy hiked her robes to crouch beside the body. Draco had to hand it to her, she was tougher than he was.

Pansy pulled open more of the bedroll. The hunter wore ragged grey robes. A wand was in his hand, resting on his stomach. "He was a wizard. It doesn't look like there was a fight or that he was killed by an animal."

"Maybe something snuck up on him and killed him," Ron croaked.

"Without leaving a mark?" Pansy shook her head. Hermione peered over her shoulder, a stubborn expression tightening her face as she did. "I don't think so, unless they used the Killing Curse."

"Another wizard, then?" Harry pet Dog, running his hand over the fur from forehead to neck repeatedly, as if consoling the animal. The sorrow on his face made Draco think that the petting was for Harry's own consolation.

Draco forcibly ignored the tightening in his chest, got to his feet, and brushed the damp leaves from his school robe. "He still has his wand. Another wizard would have taken it, or at least have broken it. He probably died of natural causes and would have rotted away if we didn't happen along."

Pansy flicked her wand at the corpse. " _Morseffectricus_."

The remains of the hunter glowed orange for a moment before fading again. Pansy looked back at Draco. "He died of natural causes." She closed the flap of the bedroll over the wizard's face, straightened, and cast a cleansing charm on her hands.

"Where'd you learn that spell?" Ron asked.

"From Madam Pomfrey," Pansy said. "She used it on Dorothy Vinski last year, when she died of snodfish poisoning."

Harry stared solemnly at the bedroll. ""We should bury him. It's only proper."

"I'll go and make a grave," Ron said, after a moment.

"I'll help," Hermione said, and the two headed away from the camp. Neville hurried after them.

Pansy coughed politely, and when Draco looked at her, indicated with a tilt of her head that she would scout a short distance on the opposite side of the camp.

Draco watched her go, leaving him alone with Harry, a dog, and a dead body. It was actually one of the dream scenarios he had stored in his head, though normally there wasn't a dog and the dead body was You-Know-Who, not some stranger. What happened next usually included Harry smiling and saying, "You're all right, Malfoy," followed by nakedness, with their robes transfigured into a bed because Draco would never be so common as to frolic in the dirt and grass.

Harry didn't look up or stop petting the dog. "I suppose I should comment on your quick thinking earlier and good wand usage." He said nothing more.

As left-handed compliments went, that one stunk, in Draco's humble opinion. He'd much rather Harry had ravished him in thanks, at the very least. Instead, Harry continued to stare morosely at the bedroll and stroke the dog's head.

"He's dead. He's not going to move."

"Leave me alone, Malfoy."

"It'll never happen." Draco kicked at the foot of the bedroll. "This makes how many dead people you've seen now, Potter? Makes me worry if just being around you causes death."

"Shut up," Harry's voice was raw as he ground out the words. He took off suddenly, striding rapidly away from the camp with Dog right behind him.

"Really, Draco, it's a wonder he doesn't throw himself at you," Pansy said dryly, coming up beside him.

Draco glowered at her and headed quickly after Harry, for protection-duty of course. It wasn't his fault that Potter was so sensitive. He wasn't about to curb his tongue merely to spare Harry's emotions. If Harry didn't like Draco just the way he was, he'd rather have not have Harry and stick with unreturned feelings.

Draco caught sight of Harry, but left some distance between them. Harry stared at the stars between the leaves, head tilted back against the trunk of a tree. Dog leaned against his thigh, being petted. The sounds of the forest surrounded them, reminding them they were not at Hogwarts.

"I know you're there, Malfoy," Harry said suddenly.

Draco was surprised, but he didn't let it show, as he closed the distance between them. "Too bad. I was all set to hex you into oblivion."

"Then why isn't your wand out?"

"Changed my mind," Draco said. "Why isn't your wand drawn? You're out here, in the middle of who-knows-where, with who-knows-what that could eat you."

"I always know when I'm being watched." Harry looked steadily at Draco for an uncomfortably long moment, before he went on. "Besides, Dog would've warned me if I were in danger." He smirked. "Apparently, you're not a threat."

Draco's hackles raised, fingers itching to pull his wand. "Care to find out just how much I am?"

"Not at the moment, no." Harry pushed off the tree and started back towards the camp.

"I could hurt you horribly, if I chose," Draco said irritably after him. But that was the clincher, wasn't it? He hadn't been able to hurt Harry even back in First, Second, and Third Years, when he'd truly wanted to cause harm.

Draco kicked the ground and trailed after Harry, like he always did.


	3. Camping Out

_Then_

 

A sound like the crack of a whip startled Draco and he dropped the Wizard Style magazine he'd been leafing through and sat up straight on his desk chair. The underwear models quickly drew on robes from the open pages on the floor. The twelve-year-old shot to his feet when he saw who'd returned. "Dobby!"

"Young Master Malfoy, sir." Dobby the house elf stood on the polished wood floor beside Draco's bed, pulling at his large bat-like ears. Dressed in an old pillowcase with a rope belt, the house elf stared nervously at Draco with his bulging green eyes.

Draco hurriedly crossed to his bedroom door, checked to make sure it was locked, and then demanded, "Well?"

"I told Harry Potter, sir, not to go back to Hogwarts," Dobby replied. "Harry Potter is not liking it, sir."

"But he's going to stay home, right?" Draco said.

Dobby wrapped his long fingers around the bevelled bedpost and banged his head against the dark wood. "I am not certain, sir!" he moaned and banged some more.

"Dobby!" Draco walked over and knocked Dobby away from the bedpost. "Why not?!"

Dobby wrung his hands. "Harry Potter loves Hogwarts, sir! It is his home, he says. I told him that bad things would happen if he returns, but he would not listen to Dobby! He wanted to know why Dobby was warning him."

"Did you tell him?"

"No, sir." Dobby shook his head.

Draco sank onto the edge of the bed and glared at his reflection in the mirror across the room. "Potter can't come back to Hogwarts. He ruined First Year for me, getting all the attention from everyone and favouritism from the professors. Even when the other students hated him, he was still the 'Boy Who Lived.' He even got to play Quidditch and is the youngest seeker at Hogwarts since forever!" Draco slammed his fists on the duvet on either side of him. "I don't _want_ him back at school."

"Harry Potter is in very big trouble with his relatives because of Dobby." Dobby turned suddenly and shoved his head through the slats of the desk chair. "Bad Dobby!"

"Big enough so they'll keep him home?"

Dobby's answer was to smack his face on the chair seat.

Draco frowned unhappily, rose, and picked up his magazine. He shoved Dobby away from the chair and looked down at him. "You'll have to keep trying. Getting Potter sent home will work just as well as preventing him from returning to school in the first place."

"Yes, sir! Dobby will keep trying, sir!"

~*~

Draco crouched behind the hospital bed, peering over the top at the boy sleeping three beds away. The bottle of Skele-Gro on the bedside table glowed eerily in the moonlight coming through the window of the infirmary. He'd tried to fake the grievousness of his own Quidditch injuries in order to stay in the hospital wing, but Madam Pomfrey had sent him away with barely a wand-over and a half piece of chocolate. Now, he had to be careful not to get caught sneaking around after curfew.

"Young Master—"

Draco bit off a yelp of startling, spinning on his slipper-clad feet and nearly falling on his bum. "Dobby," he hissed when he saw the house elf. "Where have you been? Potter got hurt!"

"Dobby knows, sir." Dobby showed Draco his bandaged hands. "Dobby feels terrible for hurting Harry Potter, so Dobby ironed his hands."

" _You_ hurt Potter?" Draco grabbed Dobby around the neck and shook him. "What were you thinking?!"

"Sir said to keep trying," Dobby croaked. "If Harry Potter were injured enough, he would go home."

"Idiot," Draco cursed, tossing Dobby on the ground.

"Dobby bad!" Dobby began beating his head on the stone floor of the infirmary.

"Shh!" Draco grabbed Dobby again, holding him close, and peered over the top of the bed. Harry shifted with a moue of displeasure, facing away from Draco.

Draco held his breath, worried his lower lip, and silently counted to twenty in Latin. When there was no more movement, he released his breath and Dobby at once. "Listen, you good for nothing rodent," Draco growled at Dobby. "No more helping me. Tell Potter that you caused the bludger to go after him so he won't try to blame me and then go back to the Manor. You can keep an eye on Father for me."

"Very well, sir," Dobby said, nodding extensively. "I will do as sir says."

He scrambled over to Harry's bed and Draco hid himself once more. Draco wanted Harry sent home, but not in pieces – unless he, of course, caused the damage. He'd stopped numerous attacks on Harry by other students for that very reason, like when Pucey shoved Harry on the moving steps, or when Finch-Fletchley nearly hit Harry with a snake-repellent potion, which was also poisonous to humans. It had been especially trying since the Chamber of Secrets had been opened. People actually thought that _Harry_ had petrified Mrs. Norris and wrote the warning on the wall. As if Potter was the Heir of Slytherin, Draco snorted softly and covered his mouth and ducked when Harry turned in his direction.

Resting on his heels, Draco listened as Harry berated Dobby and wondered where he’d gotten the idea to trust someone else, even a bound and loyal house elf, to do a job he should’ve done himself.

 

 

 _Now_

 

Mars was rather bright in the sixth house in the night sky, Draco noted. It meant violence and death would be a part of their daily routine. But considering he was inside of a book, the planet's position and brightness might not hold the same meaning as it did at home. Or so he hoped. He turned towards the south sky to search for his namesake constellation, which should be visible this time of year, but the trees blocked his view.

He stood a short distance away from the four Gryffindors, who surrounded the deceased hunter's grave, a shallow mound of dirt marked by the hunter's broken wand. They had just finished burying him. Dog sat beside Harry. Pansy was still scouting around.

"Now what?" Ron asked, though his tone was solemn.

"I'm not sure." Hermione sounded uncomfortable that she didn't have a definite answer.

Ron, Hermione, and even Neville looked lost. Harry still stared pensively at the grave.

Draco stepped forward. "It's late. Instead of wandering around in the dark, we'll stay at the hunter's campsite until morning. I don't think he'll mind."

"Malfoy-," Ron began, the usual, automatic anger lacing his tone. Harry cut him off.

"Ron, don't." Harry glanced sombrely at his friend. "Not now."

Ron compressed his lips into a thin line and followed Neville, who'd already started back to the campsite. Hermione fell quickly into step beside him.

Harry gave Draco an incomprehensible look before heading after the others with Dog at his heels. Draco sighed silently, glanced up at the sky, then at the grave, and followed Harry.

Pansy had been busy while they were gone. She’d swept the spot where the bedroll had lain. The food wrappers were disposed of and the backpack closed and sitting off to the side. Undoubtedly, she’d gone through the hunter's backpack, cataloguing items and searching for identification. A fire crackled in the fire ring, smelling of damp wood. Grey smoke curled up towards the sky.

"We're staying here tonight," Draco told Pansy.

"I thought we might." She caught Neville's attention and held up three fingers out of sight of the Gryffindor Trio. Neville held up one finger in return. "It looks like you have second watch, Draco."

Draco nodded absently, distracted by the hissed argument going on between Ron and Hermione. The two stood left of the fire ring. Harry cleared a spot on the ground on the far side of the fire.   

"Why are we listening to that git?" Ron fumed.

"Because what he said made sense," Hermione said. "Wandering around the woods anymore tonight is begging for trouble."

"So instead we're going to stay where somebody died? How is that safer?"

"The wizard died of natural causes, Ron. This spot is as safe as anywhere."

"I don't like it. It was Malfoy who got us sucked into this book and it's Malfoy who wants us to stay here. Can't you see it's a Death Eater trap?"

"Yes, Ron, I do see the possibility, which is why we'll take turns keeping watch."

Ron folded his arms. His dislike of the plan was evident on his face, but he said, "Fine. We'll stay. And if it is a trap, Malfoy will be the first to go down."

"Agreed." There was a vicious gleam in Hermione's eye when she turned and looked directly at Draco, indicating she knew he'd been listening.

Draco raised his chin imperiously and then pointedly turned his back to her.

While Draco had been eavesdropping, Pansy had transfigured a double bed, fancy comforter, puffy pillows, and a canopy tent from sticks. The deep green tent stood between two towering trees towards the right, outside of the small clearing, the firelight barely reaching it. She did not bid anyone goodnight; she simply entered the tent and closed the flaps, leaving Draco alone with the Gryffindors. The wench.

Draco walked over to the base of a large tree, transfigured a leaf into a soft, but odd-shaped cushion, and settled elegantly cross-legged onto it. There was no way he'd be able to sleep, and wouldn't even if he could, in the situation.

Across the fire burning bright in the stone fire circle, Harry sprawled on the leaf-strewn, muddy ground, careless about getting dirty, using Dog as a pillow and staring blankly up at the sky, his glasses discarded and tucked in his shirt pocket. The backpack rested near his head. Ron transfigured sticks into a too-short, lumpy mattress, a flat pillow, and coarse-looking blanket, angled close to Harry near the fire ring. Hermione sat in a tall, straight-backed black chair transfigured from a rock. She faced the fire, her feet by Ron’s head and a meter away from Draco. She was obviously settling in to keep watch, but he and Neville were on guard and her assistance wasn't actually needed.

Speaking of Neville, Draco looked around for his furry friend. He had something he wanted to discuss with his fellow PRATS that he'd been thinking on.   His brow creased when he didn't see Neville and his anger ignited when he realized no one else noticed Neville was missing.

Neville could take care of himself, Draco knew from years of working with him, and once the Weasley Twins left school, under his leadership in PRATS. Draco also trusted him completely, which was rather scary. Pansy was the only other person who could tell him what to do without much argument.   

Draco opened his mouth to question Neville's absence in a subtly scathing manner, but closed it abruptly when a small bird landed on his knee. It was a common sparrow, dark brown in colour, about the size of his hand. The sparrow stared intently at him. Draco tugged on the tip of his nose. The bird chirped twice and flew off, leaving crap on Draco's knee.

"Longbottom," Draco growled quietly. "I'm going to spit and eat you." He pulled his wand from his belt and pointed it at his soiled knee. " _Scourgify_."

"Malfoy, what are you doing?" Hermione asked suspiciously, her hand on her wand.

"It's none of your concern," Draco said. "If I were you, I'd be more worried about Bonglottom. Do you even know where he is?"

"He's gone to relieve himself." Hermione narrowed her eyes. "You'd better not have done anything to him."

Draco scoffed, examining his knee thoroughly, making certain his school robe was clean. Internally, he was satisfied that tabs were being kept on Neville, even if Neville had sneaked off for an air reconnaissance.

Satisfied that his robe was clean, Draco stood, sneered at Hermione, and strode away from her, to Pansy's tent. He ducked inside without making any attempts to knock on the canvas, earning a glare from the tent's occupant. "Do you mind?"

" _Obtecui_." A hazy blue shimmer from the silencing spell spread over the area inside the tent. Draco put away his wand and sat on the corner of Pansy's transfigured bed. She sat propped up against the headboard, examining her coloured nails.

A sparrow hopped under the edge of the tent, chirped, and grew into Neville. He coloured lightly when he saw Pansy on the bed. "What's the PRATS message, Malfoy?"

"We might have a problem," Draco said. "Weasley brought this up, and while he's mistaken about me, he could also be right. How do we know this isn't a Death Eater trap?"

"The book?" Neville said with a furrow of his brow. "I thought we decided it _was_ a trap from Bleckly’s aunt."

"Not the book, the dead hunter and us staying here," Draco said.

Pansy understood. "You think that a few Death Eaters were trapped in the book, too, with the purpose of disposing of Potter."

"It's possible."

"The set up is good," Pansy said. "We're out in the middle of the woods, at night, and they could come at us from any direction."

"It was your suggestion to stay here, Malfoy," Neville pointed out.

"I know. I wasn't thinking." Draco said, mentally cursing. "It's too late now to move, not without explaining to them why."

"Even then, they won't necessarily believe us," Pansy said. "We'll have to make do."

"Well, we already have two people on watch each shift, with Hermione, Ron, and Harry,” Neville said. “I didn’t see any other fires or people in a quarter-kilometre radius, but I’ll check again. Otherwise, we should be all right.”

"I’ll cast the modified locating charm the Twins taught us on Potter," Draco said.

"That's the one that’s undetectable unless you cross your eyes?" Neville said.

“Yes. It’ll last twenty-four hours.”

"Is it possible that Dog is an Animagus?" Pansy said suddenly.

Neville shook his head. "I already checked. He's just a dog."

"Do we need to discuss anything else?" Draco said, anxious to get back outside.

Pansy and Neville both answered negatively. Draco clapped his hands on his thighs and stood. "Take care, you two."

"Same with you," Pansy said.

Draco acknowledged her with a nod, pulled his wand and tucked it up his sleeve, and left the tent. He circled around the fire and Harry under Hermione's watchful eye, crouched beside the backpack and pretended to riffle through its contents with one hand. He put his other hand behind his back, let his wand slip from the sleeve, glanced over his shoulder at Harry and Dog, and muttered the Twins' charm under his breath. " _Ignivisus_."

The brightness from the fire hid the spell-light and it absorbed into Harry without incident. Satisfied, Draco tucked his wand back up his sleeve, closed the backpack with a false look of disgust, wandered back to his cushion, and settled cross-legged onto it. Hermione studied him for a moment before returning to scanning the woods around them.

Draco rested his head against the tree trunk behind him, wiggled on his cushion, and looked up at the stars through the branches of the trees. He was more worried than he'd let on to Pansy and Neville with the thought of Death Eaters being in the book. It was times like this that he wished Dobby was still the Malfoy house elf. Dobby would've spied on his father for Draco and told him what the plan was, even with his father in "hiding" after his escape from Azkaban two years back. They might not even have been captured within the Tome of Entrapment if Dobby had been where he was supposed to be and not working for pay at Hogwarts.

Draco rubbed his forehead. Dwelling on Dobby's lack of assistance was futile and besides which, the last time he ordered Dobby to do something, the house elf had broken Harry’s arm. Trusting Neville and Pansy would only do so much to ease his apprehension. With his emotions involved, Draco would have to stay alert and protect Harry with blind luck. 

So it was situation normal, all Filched up.


	4. Working Together

_Then_

 

"If my robes get soiled, you will be sorry, Draco," Pansy Parkinson warned, lifting the hem of her embroidered brown robe as they walked through the woods at Malfoy Manor. The Nanny house elf trailed behind the two thirteen-year-olds at a distance. "Why can't we meet with him in the house?"

"Because of my father, you know that," Draco said. Sunlight spilled through the leaves, painting golden splotches on his crisp violet robes. The woods were alive with creatures big and small enjoying the warm summer morning, rustling in the bushes, scampering through the tufts of flowers, crabgrass and weeds, shaking the branches in the trees, chirping and chattering. "Our visitor is rather afraid of him."

"Most people are," Pansy said.

Draco shrugged. "Power and wealth can be daunting to those who don't have it."

They neared the edge of the woods to the east, which met up with the neighbour's open grounds. A low stone wall separated the two properties, weathered and broken in places from age. Neville Longbottom stood nervously on the opposite side of the wall, his round face reddened and sweaty. His eyes darted at every noise and he gulped when he fixed on Draco and Pansy, and on the Nanny a little way behind them. He looked over his shoulder at a tall clump of humbleberry bushes and then back at Draco and Pansy. "H-hi."

Draco and Pansy walked right up to the wall, putting themselves as far from the Nanny house elf as they were allowed. "What do you want?"

Neville looked fearful for a moment, then his jaw tightened and he squared his shoulders. "I thought we might work together."

"Work together?" Draco sputtered in laughter and exchanged a look with Pansy. He’d received a post from Neville earlier in the week, and curiosity and irritation about what the message meant had driven Draco into meeting with him. "I’d have to have a death wish to work with you on Potions. You need simply to look at a cauldron and it melts in fear of you.”

“I’m not talking about Potions,” Neville said, “I’m talking about Harry.”

“What about Potter?” Draco said.

"I know you've been protecting him."

Draco bristled. "I have done no such thing. Where did you get such a barmy idea? I despise Potter, with his bloody scar and his ‘Oh, I killed the basilisk, aren’t I _wonderful_ ’—"

"How do you mean?" Pansy interrupted, staring piercingly at Neville.

"A few of us have seen him preventing fights and 'accidents' from happening to Harry," Neville said. He addressed Draco. "You've been doing it since First Year."

"I wasn't protecting Potter," Draco said, aghast at the thought.

"Then what were you doing?" It was Pansy who asked, surprising Draco. "I know you've made a habit of stalking Potter, but I thought it was because you fancied him, as disgusting as that is. He’s not a pureblood."

Draco gagged, horrified. "Parkinson! I want to kill the four-eyed pillock, not snog him!"

Neville's brow wrinkled. "Why were you stopping those pranks, then?"

"None of your bloody business," Draco said. "Now leave, before I hex you."

Neville half-stepped back, glanced over his shoulder, and then a look of determination crossed his features. "No. Not until y-you tell me why you've been helping Harry."

Draco drew his wand. Neville paled and quickly drew his with a trembling hand, but he didn't leave. Pansy put her hand on Draco's shoulder and whispered in his ear. "No sanctuary here."

Draco cursed silently. His father would be furious if he were caught using magic outside of school by the Ministry. The anti-detection wards were only effective inside Malfoy Manor.

Angrily, he jabbed his wand in Neville's direction. "If anyone is going to hurt your precious Scarhead, it'll be me, not some namby twat with delusions of grandeur."

"So… you're hurting Harry by protecting him?" Neville scared expression bled into confusion.

"I'm not protecting Potter!"

"Calm down, Draco," Pansy said.

"Parkinson, shut your yap," Draco snapped.

She glared icily at him. "Come again?"

"Oh, I get it," Neville said suddenly, sounding confident. "You're preventing others from harming Harry so you can claim to be his only enemy. You're being a selfish glory hound! That makes perfect sense."

"It does?" Draco frowned.

"I still think we should work together," Neville said. "The Weasley Twins are setting up a group, and with all of us, er, 'not' protecting Harry, it should make things easier."

"Make things easier how?" Pansy said curiously.

"Malfoy's not the only one who's been keeping an eye on Harry."

"You want me to team up with you and the Twins," Draco scoffed.

"Yes?" It was more of a question than a response. “There are others, too.”

"Why?" Pansy asked.

Neville seemed more fearful than he had before, and he gulped. "Be-because S-S-Sirius Black has escaped Azkaban and he's c-coming after Harry." He looked around rapidly, as if by saying Black’s name would cause him to appear.

Pansy looked briefly afraid, before her features smoothed.   Black’s escape had been splashed across the newspapers and everyone, except for Draco, of course, was in a general panic about the madman being on the loose. His father had told him Black was going after Harry and, while Draco wanted to be the one to kill Harry, he wasn’t dumb enough to get in Black’s path. Still, he could use Neville’s little group to his advantage. "What's in it for me?" he said.

Neville was startled. "Um, I guess you can keep tormenting Harry and we won't interfere."

"Done," Draco said with a sharp nod. "I will meet with you and the Twins at the start of term to discuss schedules."

"All-all right."

"Good." Draco pivoted without another word and started back towards the Manor. He could see the Nanny out of the corner of his eye keeping pace with him a discrete distance away. Behind him, he heard Pansy bid goodbye to Neville.

Pansy came up along side Draco, glancing back over her shoulder. He frowned at her. "What are you looking at?"

"Longbottom." Pansy wore a contemplative expression. "He really is a Gryffindor."

Draco snorted. "I'll say. Brave to the point of foolishness to come out here and ask me to join his little party." He had a bad thought and made a face. "I certainly hope he doesn't think we're friends now."

"Doubtful." Pansy smirked. "Though you shouldn't be choosy, considering the vast number of friends you have."

Draco looked down his nose at her. "I am considering getting rid of this one annoying bitch who hasn't left me alone for nine years."

"Serves you right if I did up and leave you forever," Pansy said. "Then, who would tell you that your hair is sticking up like a dandelion?"

Draco’s hand flew to his head, as Pansy glanced over her shoulder again and then laughed. “I guess he’s not the perfect Gryffindor. The Weasley Twins are with him.”

Draco looked back, while smoothing down his hair. Sure enough, Fred and George Weasley stood with Neville, brushing humbleberries off their raggedy clothing. He frowned. “I wonder why they hid.”

“To keep from scaring you off, I’d wager,” Pansy said, skirting a tree stump.

Draco scowled. “They’re Weasleys, for bloody’s sake. The only thing I fear from them is catching freckles or their Muggle-loving germs.”

“And now you’re going to work with them.”

“That is rather disgusting.” Draco shuddered. “Why did I agree?”

“I’d like to know the answer, too,” Pansy said.

Draco smirked. “If I work with them, I’ll know where Potter is all the time and they won’t stop me from executing any of my plans.”

“What if Black comes after you to get to Potter?”

“I’m not stupid, Pansy. I’ll escort Black directly to Potter.”

“Because we both know you’re no idiotically brave Gryffindor,” Pansy said. “However, keep me out of it. I don’t want anything to do with Potter.”

“I promise I won’t drag you into it.”

 

 

 _Now_

 

Harry was not still when he slept. He tossed and turned, muttered and cursed, and caused Dog to quit his pillow duties and move elsewhere. Ron, and subsequently Hermione and Neville, slept through the ruckus, indicating Harry’s chaotic sleeping pattern was the norm.

Draco watched Harry across the embers of the fire, as Ron kept guard and fought sleep. Third shift neared and he'd have to wake Pansy, even though he wouldn't be going to sleep himself. Pansy would hex him if she weren't treated equally. Ron would be waking Harry, too, if Ron kept awake to do so.

Draco had spent the majority of his watch prowling the campsite. After Hermione had woken Ron for his turn, Ron had stared suspiciously at Draco for a while, as Draco circled the campsite, pausing at intervals to listen and look into the woods. They’d had words, nothing unusual there, and then Draco ignored him.

The night had been relatively quiet. No odd animals or beasts came into the clearing, most likely because of the fire and Dog. The flickering flames and crackle of the burning logs would be soothing if Draco was in the familiar woods behind the Manor. House elves and a posh wizard’s tent would be helpful, as well.

Through his lashes, Draco's eyes traced Harry's sleeping features, following the strong lines of his nose and jaw, the curve of his lips, and the peek-a-boo scar hiding partially behind his ratty black hair. Harry didn't hold a candle to Draco's handsomeness, but he definitely wasn't half-bad looking. His physical appearance made Draco's body tighten and itch to touch, and Draco had spent an inordinate amount of time fantasizing about him in the shower late at night. If Draco wasn't careful, he could fall into a fantasy right now, where he woke Harry from his troubled sleep and gave him something else to dream about.

Harry's eyes flew open suddenly and he sat up with a gasp, staring directly at Draco. Draco froze outwardly, while inside his heart sped up madly. He'd been caught staring, something that just didn't happen. Draco Malfoy never got caught doing anything unless it was planned.

Harry didn't blink. His pale white face stood out vividly against the darkness of his school robes. Sweat dotted his brow and his upper lip.

Harry shuddered hard, sucking in a shallow, wheezy breath of air. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, dropped his hands in his lap, and cursed adroitly.

"I hope that's not addressed to me," Draco said, holding on to his composure despite being caught.

Harry's chin whipped up and he squinted in Draco's direction. Draco realized, as Harry groped for his glasses, that Harry couldn't see him. He hadn't been caught; it was merely coincidence that Harry had been looking in his direction.

Harry hooked his round glasses over his ears and blinked several times before focusing on Draco. "Darn. It wasn't a nightmare."

"Sorry to disappoint," Draco said sarcastically.

"What are you doing awake?" Harry pushed up his robe sleeve to look at his watch, shook his wrist, looked again at his watch, scowled, and lowered his arm.

"Protecting myself from becoming a midnight snack, same as Weasley, only I'm doing it with my eyes open."

Harry glanced over at the now-sleeping Ron and an affectionate smile briefly graced his lips. "I'm up now," he said, addressing Draco. "If you want to sleep, go ahead. I promise to wake you in time to get eaten."

"For some odd reason - and I can't imagine why - I don't trust you to hold your promise, Potter." Draco rose gracefully and headed for Pansy's tent. "Pansy will keep watch for me."

"Malfoy, don't wake her. It's not necessary."

Draco paused and faced Harry. "What you mean is, you'd rather not have the possible Death Eaters awake to hex you if this is a trap."

Harry looked at him steadily. "Are there Death Eaters here?”

“Push up everyone’s sleeves and find out.” Draco turned his back to Harry and ducked into Pansy's tent. She was laid out like a princess on the soft-looking bed. Draco barely touched her and she woke, wand in hand. Not a single dark strand of hair on her head was out of place, nor did she have any pillow creases on her cheek. Her clear eyes focused on Draco instantly. She lowered her wand.

"Your watch," Draco told her. "Potter is awake and acting annoying."

"Like normal, you mean." Pansy stretched, yawned daintily, and stood. Her hunter green robes swished around her legs, falling into place without a wrinkle.

“He asked if we were Death Eaters.”

Pansy’s brows lifted. “What did you tell him?”

“I said: ‘No, we’re Potter Worshipers. See the lightning bolt marks on our arms?’” Draco waved his hand at the tent and bedding. "Transfigure this stuff back to normal before I'm tempted to use it."

"You should." Pansy frowned at him. "Having circles under your eyes is in no way attractive."

"Who am I trying to attract?" Draco said wryly. He shook his head. "I'm not going to be able to sleep anyway, Pans, so get rid of it."

Needing to relieve himself, Draco left the tent and strode into the woods a bit. When he returned, the tent was gone and Pansy watched the woods, standing opposite Ron, who was soundly sleeping on the uncomfortable-looking chair. Harry sat with his back to the dying fire, scratching Dog behind the ears, as he also watched the woods. No one else had stirred, Hermione still slept angled beside Harry on Ron’s mattress and Neville was curled on the ground between Ron and Draco’s cushion.

Draco stretched his long limbs in front of him as he sat on the transfigured leaf-shaped cushion and leaned against the tree. Harry's hair stuck up in the back like a dog's tail and Draco longed to smooth it down. Instead, Draco closed his eyes and released a slow breath. He wondered how long it would take to reach the end of the book, if they could find it. He also wondered what they might encounter along the way. Maybe they'd get lucky and the Tome of Entrapment had a shoddy authorship.

One thing he did know was that they'd have to forage for food, since conjured food did nothing for nourishment. Unfortunately, he knew he was most equipped for finding their meal, since it would be stupid for Harry to go off into the woods. He planned to go hunting at dawn. He had no clue how to cook what he caught, but he was sure Weasley didn't have house elves and could fix a meal. Even if he didn't, they had to eat and someone who wasn't Draco would prepare the food.

Draco folded his hands in his lap and worked to clear his mind. It was difficult to relax, however. The sounds he heard were not the familiar sounds of the woods at Malfoy Manor or in the halls of Hogwarts, and he was on edge, waiting for the possibility of a Death Eater strike.

Time passed with excruciating slowness, making Draco worry that they were in a world of perpetual night. But eventually the sky began to lighten, colouring the woods in shades of misty grey. In the predawn coolness, Draco rose fluidly and slipped off into the forest under Pansy's questioning eye. Harry's back had been to Draco still, and he did not notice the Slytherin's quiet departure.

Rita Skeeter had given Draco the idea to become an unregistered Animagus, when he had fed her a continual stream of false information about Harry in Fourth Form. (That had been a brill plan and had driven Harry round the twist. Draco was rather proud of himself.) Rita had been able to get onto Hogwarts grounds undetected in her Animagus form, and even if someone saw her, they'd dismissed her presence. Who cared about a bug? Subsequently, who would care about a stray dog? Or a bird?

Learning to become an Animagus was difficult and dangerous and not to be tried alone, but once accomplished it had been _brilliant_. It had taken most of Fifth Year, with Draco meeting Neville a couple times a week, a few false starts, feathers and fur stuck in uncomfortable places, peeps and barks from human mouths, and a lot of behind the ear scratching, to accomplish the Animagus transformation and feel comfortable in their Animagus forms. Neville's form was the common sparrow. Draco had gotten his wish for something with a little bite, but ended up having to research his form: a coyote. Coyotes weren’t native to Britain and Draco had almost despaired, but luckily, the coyote looked like a dog and he could blend in as such.

As a coyote, Draco was of average build and resembled a compact Husky. His ears stood straight up from his head in soft triangles, the skin of the inner ear pink in colour. His thick, grey-brown fur lay close to his body, ending in a fox-brush tail that had no curve. His almond-shaped dog eyes were the same silver-grey as his human ones.

Draco enjoyed being a coyote. He could see in colour, his vision as adequate as his human sight. His hearing and sense of smell were phenomenal. He had a smooth and effortless gait, and he was quite swift. His bark was deep, though he usually remained silent. Practice over the summer between Fifth and Sixth Years in the woods at Malfoy Manor had turned him into a great hunter and venturing into Swindon had taught him how to blend in and act like other strays.

With little effort and a small pop, Draco's clothed body shrunk and morphed into a coyote. His muscles felt like they were being compressed and stretched at the same time. His eyes crossed as his nose and mouth expanded into a muzzle. He fell forward, his arms and hands changing into legs and paws before he hit the ground. The change was briefly disorienting as his perspective shifted, but within moments he was loping deeper into the forest surrounding the campsite. The scents of early morning filled his senses, including the freshness of the air and the emergence of animals from their dens.

Draco slowed, his steps becoming silent on the leaf-strewn, muddy ground. He picked up the scent of a rabbit and followed his nose. He spotted the brown and white animal a minute later, sitting in the open near a clump of weeds. The rabbit's ears flickered in his direction.

Draco crept carefully forward, his paws making no noise as he stalked his prey. The rabbit's nose twitched. Draco paused, crouching low to the ground.

He struck suddenly and with deadly accuracy. His powerful jaws clamped around the rabbit's neck before it could move. The rabbit squealed, but fell silent after a hard shake, as its neck snapped. Draco tasted blood in his mouth where his sharp teeth punctured the rabbit's skin. He felt a thrill at his successful hunt.

Pansy, however, was less than thrilled when Draco dropped the rabbit at her feet. Her face screwed in disgust. "What are you doing?"

Draco licked his chops, washing away the coppery tang of blood.   Beyond her sat Harry and Dog. Harry's back was to Draco, but Dog lifted his head and looked at the Animagus. Draco wondered what Pansy had told Harry about him being gone, as Harry didn’t seem concerned that he wasn’t there.

"I know you don't expect me to do something with that," Pansy stated.

Draco glanced up at her, and then turned and headed into the woods again. He'd eaten rabbit before and knew one wouldn't be enough for the six of them.

Draco smelled Dog before hearing him approaching from behind. Draco stopped and waited, not wanting a fight with Dog. It wasn't a matter of Draco worrying that he'd lose, but rather that Dog would in less-than-perfect condition when he won and he’d have to listen to the complaining.

So, Draco let Dog make the first cold nose contact, the sniffing intrusion the only aspect he hated about being in the canine family. Personal boundaries meant nothing to dogs and having his arse smelled was just something he had to put up with. The sacrifices he made for Potter.

"Dog! Here, boy!" Draco heard Harry call.

Dog woofed in response. He apparently decided Draco wasn't a threat. Again. Tail wagging, he nudged Draco in the side and then bounded back to the campsite. Draco shook himself and continued on in the opposite direction.

He was lucky to find a second rabbit. He'd thought they'd have to have a two-species meal. Hunting wasn't a predictable activity.

He changed back to his normal, striking human self before returning to camp, carrying the second rabbit carcass by the ears. Everyone was awake. Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Neville were fully dressed in jumpers and robes, sitting on the mattress, talking, with Dog lying between them and the hunter’s backpack on the ground. The chair was gone. Pansy was keeping watch on the outskirts of the campsite. She saw him first and indicated by smoothing the top of her hair that she'd covered for him, a rustle of her robes meant he'd been using the toilet, or the bushes in this case. Ron and Hermione’s suspicion was palpable, their wands in hand, as he stepped through the trees, picked up the first rabbit still lying where Pansy had left it, and brought both dead bodies over to the fire ring.

"What're those for?" Harry said, nose wrinkling.

"Breakfast, what else?" Draco answered, dropping the rabbits on the ground where the chair had been.   "I spotted them on my way back."

"Rabbits?" Hermione said with repulsion as she stood.

Draco's lip curled in disdain at the rat's nest on her head. "We have to eat. I'm sure Weasley's cooked animals like this before, considering his family's too poor to go to the food shop."

Ron scowled. "Sod off. I'm not cooking anything."

"What do you expect to happen? House elves to put food on the table?" Draco gestured expansively. "I don't see any house elves or a bloody table."

"Then cook it yourself." Ron stood, hand clenching around his wand. "I'm not waiting on you, Malfoy."

"Starve, then, for all I care," Draco sneered. “You’re probably used to going the entire summer hols without food.”

"I highly doubt he'll starve. The hunter had to come from somewhere," Hermione said. "And until we find where, we can eat berries, nuts, and flowers. We've all taken Herbology and know what's safely edible."

"Except I haven't seen any nuts or berries. Open your eyes, Granger. There are only trees, leaves, moss, more leaves, and mud."

Hermione glared at his tone, getting defensive. "We would figure out something."

"It's not like we'd touch anything offered by a Junior Death Eater, anyway," Ron sneered. Neville stood, de-transfigured the mattress back into a leaf, and moved out of the line of fire.

Draco's eyes narrowed into slits. "I guess you'd better watch yourself, then. You'd never know what I might curse."

Harry rose then, putting himself in front of Hermione and Ron. His expression was stony, and even dirty and sleep-dishevelled he radiated self-confidence with the power to back it up. "Just try it, Malfoy."

Draco sneered, as Pansy came up beside him. "Perhaps I-"

Suddenly, a rumbling sound, like that of a train speeding along the tracks, filled the air. The ground shook roughly, nearly toppling the six students. The trees surrounding the clearing shook violently and green, brown, and yellow leaves from the branches rained down. Draco threw out his hand, grabbing Pansy's shoulder, trying to steady both her and him. Hermione fell backwards against Ron, who caught her around the waist. Harry splayed his arms for balance.

The earth sucked down Neville.

The suddenly soft, muddy ground bubbled where Neville had been, releasing a sound not unlike a belch, and the shaking shuddered to a halt. The abrupt silence was an eerie punctuation to the quake.

" _Traho_!"

Pansy's voice was like a boom of thunder in the quiet. A nearly invisible breathing bubble appeared, surrounding her head, dappled sunlight glinting off the magical rim. She was moving before the word left her mouth, waving her wand at a rabbit carcass, transfiguring it into a furry coil of rope. She grabbed one end of the rope and looped it around her waist. Without hesitation, she dove into the mud.

"Wait!" Hermione yelled, but it was too late. Pansy had disappeared beneath the surface.

Dog began barking, running up to the edge of the mud hole and skidding to a stop.

"Bloody hell! Secure the rope!" Draco darted forward and grabbed the rope as it rapidly snaked into the mud. He didn’t know an anchoring spell.

“ _Defixum_!”

Ron was just in time, as the excess slack ripped from Draco’s hands. The rope weave burned the flesh of his palms, cutting them open, but it didn't compare to the pain of the thought that Pansy and Neville could be lost to him.

Ron checked the rope where it had attached to the solid ground behind Draco, near the fire ring. Across from Draco, Harry knelt at the edge of the mud hole, poking the mud with his wand, a dark expression on his face. Dog stopped barking, sniffing the ground around the edge near Harry. Draco stared at the burbling ground, the tips of his boots sinking in the mud. Fallen leaves balanced on the edge of the mud hole, gravity precarious, and fate deciding whether the leaf would sink or stay on solid ground. Draco had no idea if Pansy had reached Neville, or if Pansy was even alive. He glared angrily at the mud, mentally ordering it to release Pansy and Neville. Waiting had never been Draco's strong suit; he was a Malfoy, after all, and got what he wanted when he wanted it. Except for Harry, but that was a whole other box of flobberworms.

"We should've made a plan before Pansy acted." Hermione stood behind Harry with a grip on the collar of his robe. Her face creased as her mind worked out possible ones they could have used. "I wish _accio_ worked on people. Why the rope?"

"It's for safety," Ron said. "If a wizard or witch is doing dangerous work and something goes wrong, the rescuers can find their bodies by pulling or following the rope."

"Bodies?" Hermione paled.

"I'm going after them," Harry rose from his kneeling position beside the mud hole and stripped off his school robe.

"No," Draco bit out. His face was grey with fear. "You're not going anywhere, Potter."

"I'm not going to let them drown," Harry stated, anger at the nay-saying flaring in his eyes.

"But if you drown in the mud, too, what then?" Draco said. "That makes three dead instead of two. I know Gryffindor bravery is synonymous with stupidity, but that’s completely daft!"

Harry opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione's exclamation interrupted him. "Look!”

A large, black bubble rose from the surface of the mud hole with a slick sucking sound. A second, smaller bubble appeared right behind it. Draco held his breath, bloody hands clenching in tight fists. The beams of morning sunlight slid over the bubbles, as if trying to gain purchase but the surfaces were too slick. The larger bubble popped, and Pansy's clean head appeared, floating above the surface. "Grab Longbottom!"

Dog started barking again. Harry and Hermione were there immediately, grasping Neville's inert form before Pansy ended the buoyancy spell. The smaller bubble wasn't a bubble at all, but Neville's head coated entirely with mud. They pulled him free and dragged him away from the mud hole.

Draco latched onto Pansy's arm and strained against the resistance of the mud not wanting to release her. Ron darted to the edge of the mud hole, latched onto Pansy's other arm, and heaved. She came free from the mud with a slurp, tumbling them to the ground in a tangle of mud, leaves, and limbs. Draco smacked the back of his head on a rock from the fire circle.

Harry pulled his wand from his belt and aimed at Neville. " _Ennervate_!" Neville's body spasmed. Hermione wiped his muddy face clean with her school robe.

Draco shoved Ron away, knelt up, and helped Pansy to sit up. He brushed her mussed, but clean hair away from her mud-free face, smearing copper-coloured blood across her temple and cheek from his hand. "All right?"

"I'm fine. How's Neville?" she asked, trying to catch her breath.

Rough coughing and retching answered her question. Neville was on his hands and knees, being supported by Harry and Hermione. A thick layer of mud coated him from head to foot. Pansy was no cleaner from the shoulders down.

Ron hung on to Dog, who apparently wanted to lick Neville clean. Harry gnawed on his lower lip, looking worriedly between Neville and Pansy.

Draco stood abruptly and walked over to the backpack, sitting on the ground around the other side of the fire ring. He knelt and sorted through its contents. Neville continued hacking behind him.

His chest and throat tightened, making it difficult to breathe. Nothing happened, he told himself firmly. Pansy and Neville were all right.

"Neville, you okay, mate?"

"He looks kind of blue."

"That's from the lack of oxygen. Come on, Neville, you need to relax. All this coughing isn't helping you."

Draco lowered his face into his hands, eyes squeezed shut, and took a long, slow breath.

"Move, Granger."

"Pansy, what do you think you're-"

" _Sano aspirare_."

Neville coughing tapered off. Draco lowered his hands and began searching through the backpack again. Behind him, he heard Pansy arguing with Ron about the spell she used. Hermione was fussing over Neville.

A twig snapping brought Draco's head up rapidly. Harry stood right in front of him and started in surprise. "You're hurt."

Draco blinked in shock at the concern directed toward him. He looked down at his bloody, ripped palms. They immediately began hurting fiercely.

A somewhat small, blunt hand disrupted his line of sight, and he lifted his gaze when Harry waved it. Harry was crouched beside him, wand out, magnified green eyes roving over Draco's face.

"Where are you hurt, Malfoy?" Harry’s brow furrowed. Mud marred the frames of his glasses and a bit of his cheek. "Your face is covered in blood, but I don't see any cuts."

"Why do you care?"

Harry's expression darkened. "Pansy helped my friend; I’ll help hers, even if it is you."

"I don't want your help," Draco said.

"Fine," Harry said with a shrug, and started to rise.

"That doesn't mean I won't take it."

"Malfoy, you're a right pain in the arse." Harry sighed, crouched again, and waved his wand broadly. "Where are you hurt?"

Wordlessly, Draco extended his hands, palms up. Harry pulled a face at the state of Draco's hands. He pointed his wand at the injured palms and said, " _Scourgify_."

The blood, fuzzy rope weave fibres, and mud were cleaned off Draco's hands, revealing ragged gashes that striped both palms, the sides of his thumbs, and across the undersides of his fingers. Blood began beading across the wounds again.

Gently, Harry took one of Draco's hands and examined the injury. "Does it hurt badly?"

Draco, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything, shook his head negatively.

"It'd be nice if we had some wound-cleaning potion." Harry's calloused fingertips stroked along Draco's wrist, hands, and fingers, making Draco's skin tingle and his breathing difficult. Draco wanted equally to jerk away or plead for more. "I'd hate to heal this and then you promptly get an infection. You'd complain about my incompetence then until I hexed your mouth shut."

The continued, gentle caress had to be unintentional. Harry hated him, unless this was a new, devious way to torment him. The light touch of Harry's fingertips brushing over his palms was arousing, in spite of the rope gashes. The pulse at his wrists fluttered rapidly, visible beneath the taut pale skin. The warmth and texture of Harry's hands felt nothing like his own when he touched himself, and his fingernails would never be so ragged or dirty. He imagined what it might feel like for Harry's hands to caress somewhere else.

" _Sano_." Harry pressed the tip of his wand to Draco's injury and cast the healing charm. He repeated the charm on the other hand and let go.

"Right then," Draco said abruptly, needing to get away from Harry before he did something regrettable, like beg for Harry to touch him in other now-aching places. He grabbed the vial of soothe-all he'd found in the backpack and shoved it at Harry. "Give this to Longbottom, so he doesn't start that annoying coughing again."

Draco shoved to his feet and turned around. Neville slumped in a transfigured, squashy armchair by the dead campfire, his face ashen under his dark beard and scraggly hair. He was clean, though, the mud having been charmed away. Draco desperately wanted to speak with him, but instead walked over to Pansy. Pansy's robes were pristine again and her hair neat. She turned up her pug nose when she saw him. "Draco, your face is filthy. _Scourgify_." With a flick of her wand, any remaining mud and blood vanished from his person.

Pansy frowned when she saw his tense features. "What happened?"

"Nothing." Pansy's perfectly arched brow rose in disbelief. Draco's expression hardened further. "Nothing," he repeated.

"If you say so."

Draco scowled, turned his back to her, and saw Harry give Neville the vial. The memory of Harry's touch ghosted over his skin. Draco averted his eyes.

Ron hovered protectively by Hermione as she crawled on the leaf-strewn ground, examining the mud hole. Dog kept nudging her, as if she were playing.

"Do you think the earthquake caused the mud hole?" Neville asked in a scratchy voice, as Hermione finished her study. He drank the potion in his hand.

"It’s the most logical explanation." Hermione rose to her feet and cleaned herself. " _Scourgify_. You were lucky you both didn’t drown. We should have made a safe strategy before Pansy jumped in after Neville."

"Next time, I'll be sure to create a proper plan complete with diagrams, references, and historical anecdotes," Pansy said.

"Well, no matter, I'm grateful to you, Pansy," Neville said with a shy, sincere smile. "Thanks."

"If you were any heavier, I would've let you drown," Pansy said brusquely, though her cheeks flushed with colour.

Draco's blonde brows lifted nearly to his hairline. He looked back and forth between Pansy and Neville. Both were avoiding eye contact and now Neville's face had a pink tinge, as well.

“It was really quick thinking, Parkin- Pansy,” Harry said, appreciation evident. “How did you come up with the bubble-head charm? I wouldn’t have thought to use that.”

“It’s from the Tri-Wizard Tournament,” Pansy said. “When you did the lake challenge, I thought about what I’d do and it would’ve been the bubble-head charm. I learned it in case I had a chance to participate some day.”

“I’m sure you would’ve won,” Harry said with a smile. Draco tried not to gag on the sincerity.

“Where did you learn about an anchor rope? Your family is rich,” Ron said, as if being rich was an insult.

“My family goes on dragon hunting expeditions every summer,” Pansy replied.

“You killed dragons?” Hermione looked appalled. So did the other Gryffindors.

“Of course not,” Pansy said. “I couldn’t use my wand outside of school until I turned seventeen, like everyone else, and we didn’t go this past summer.”

Her words appeased the others. Draco looked at the ground and stifled his laugh. What Pansy hadn’t said was that, just because she couldn’t use her wand, didn’t mean that her other family members had that restriction.

“My brother Charlie raises dragons in Romania,” Ron said. “Have you ever been there?”

“Once or twice, I think,” Pansy said. “If I recall, they had an Ironbelly hatchling with the hiccoughs when I was there and she kept lighting everything on fire.”

“I remember her!” Ron enthused. “She’s a beauty. I wonder if she’s still at the reserve.”

"Right. Time to go," Draco said abruptly, before Pansy bonded even more with Weasley and Draco was forced to gouge his own eyes out. "One of you can carry Longshanks if he's not up to walking."

"I'm okay," Neville said, sounding much better. He stood.

"Which direction are we going?" Ron said.

"I think we should try to find where the hunter lived,” Hermione said. She gave Draco a snotty look. “He had food in his backpack, so he's bound to have some there, and then we don’t have to worry about killing animals for food."

“I enjoy killing them for sport better, anyway,” Draco said.

"How will we find where he lived?" Neville said, before Hermione could retort.

"Maybe Dog can lead us." Harry crouched to Dog's level and scratched under both ears. "What do you say, boy? Can you take us to your home?"

Dog bounced and woofed enthusiastically, knocking Harry on his bum. Harry laughed as Dog bounded into the woods, returned, woofed, and bounded off again.

"I'll presume that means 'yes' in Dogese," Harry joked.

"Do you really think we should rely on the dog to lead us anywhere?" Pansy said.

"Most dogs do know commands, like ‘sit’ and ‘heel’ and ‘home’," Harry said. He then shrugged. "Even if not, it gives us a direction to go in, instead of wandering around like First Years at the beginning of term."

"We need to transfigure this stuff back to normal." Hermione gestured around the campsite at the chair, rope, and Draco's cushion. "'Leave the woods as you found it.' That's something campers have learned in the Muggle world."

"By all means, let's do what the Muggles do," Draco drawled sarcastically.

Hermione glared, but Harry said, "Ignore him."

Draco bristled, however, he commented no further. Hermione, Harry and Ron cleaned the campsite. Neville checked to make certain the fire was out. Pansy collected the backpack and gave it to Ron. Dog came back, circled Harry excitedly, and ran off again.

Harry gathered his school robe and asked, "Is everyone set? Neville, will you be all right?"

"I'm good," Neville replied.

“ _Tractus_ ,” Hermione re-cast the glowing footprint spell on her feet.

Harry nodded, as Ron shouldered the backpack. "Then, we're off."

"About bloody time," Draco muttered as the displaced group headed away from the campsite, leaving only a trail of glowing footprints behind.


	5. The Worst Fear

_Then_

 

“Bloody hell,” Draco muttered, searching through his book satchel. The Third Year stopped abruptly in the middle of the school corridor, other students funnelling around him as they headed for lunch. Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle halted a few steps later, when they realized Draco wasn’t with them.

“What is it?” Vince asked, looking back at Draco.

“I left my library book in Binns’ classroom.” Draco’s features creased in annoyance. “Stay here.”

Draco pivoted on his heel and returned the way he’d come after History of Magic. It was quicker to fetch the book himself than to send his friends; they’d probably get lost on the way. The hallway was rapidly clearing of students released from morning classes. He passed Professor Lupin coming out of the staff room where they’d had yesterday’s Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, wearing a worried frown and appearing dishevelled and threadbare, as usual. Draco sneered in his direction before rounding the corner and entering Binns’ classroom.

The sloped classroom was empty of students and the ghostly Professor. Lines of desks rose in tiers from the front to the back of the class and Draco’s shoes clicked on the stone floor as he walked partway up the side aisle. His library book was on the floor beside his seat. He had been reading it during Binns’ lesson on the Goblin Rebellion Du Jour. Salazar Slytherin’s biography was much more interesting than Binns’ lesson. Hell, _Lint, from Navel to Toes_ would be more interesting than Binns.

Draco picked up the book, checked for any damage, and slipped it into his satchel. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something on the floor in the back of the room. If his seat hadn’t been at the end of the row, he wouldn’t have seen it at all.

It looked like a shoe. Curious, Draco set his satchel on the desk and walked up the aisle toward the back of the classroom. As he got closer, he saw there were actually two scuffed and ratty shoes. And they were on a pair of feet.

Draco’s heart began pounding. There was someone lying on the floor behind the last row. He drew his wand, inched closer, and peered nervously over the desk.

The feet belonged to Harry Potter.

Harry lay unmoving on the floor in his school uniform, eyes open behind his glasses. He stared sightlessly at the ceiling. Draco saw no marks, other than the blasted scar marring Harry’s forehead.

“Potter?” Draco said in disbelief and a trace of fear. He kicked Harry’s foot, but Harry didn’t stir.

“ _Finite incantatem_ ,” Draco cast, the white bandage on his arm peeking from his sleeve as he flicked his wand. He nibbled his lower lip, growing panicked, when the spell didn’t work. He tried another. “ _Ennervate!_ ”

Harry didn’t move.

“ _Sano!_ ” Draco tried. This couldn’t be happening. Harry had a group of people safeguarding him, including Draco (for the express purpose of being the one to kill him when the perfect opportunity presented itself, of course). Harry hadn’t been alone since school started because of Sirius Black’s escape from Azkaban.

Draco rounded the row and dropped to his knees. His hand trembled as he put it on Harry’s shoulder and shook him roughly. “Potter! This isn’t funny!”

Harry’s head rolled at the hard shaking and green eyes stared blankly at Draco. A shiver of dread ran up Draco’s spine. Swallowing thickly, he put his ear against Harry’s chest, held his breath, and listened.

He heard nothing.

Draco’s throat seized and he closed his eyes tightly at the stinging sensation he felt. This couldn’t be happening.

“Malfoy?” Greg’s entreaty carried in the classroom. “You here?”

“He has to be. There’s his satchel,” Vince said. Heavy footsteps echoed on the stone floor, which stopped abruptly when Draco spoke.

“I shouldn’t feel like this.” His voice sounded raw and rough, like stone grinding against stone. “I should be happy.” Instead, he felt hollow, as if something vital had been removed from his chest.

He heard footsteps again, and then a surprised gasp from Vince at the end of the row. “Is that Potter?”

“Did you curse him?” Greg said, sounding gleeful.

Draco raised his head and glared blurrily in Greg’s direction. “He’s dead, you pillock.”

Greg paused, and then asked, “Did you do it?”

“ _No_ ,” Draco’s tone scraped his ears. He shoved to his feet and stumbled down the aisle, away from Harry.

Vince met him in the middle of the classroom, grabbing his arms and holding him up as his legs went numb. “Malfoy?”

“I was going to kill him,” Draco said, looking wildly at his friend. “That was the plan. You knew the plan. Why does it hurt?”

“Uh …” Vince’s thick brows furrowed. “What hurts?”

“Everything,” Draco whispered desolately. He dropped his chin and blinked rapidly against his tearing eyes.

“Should I get Pansy?”

“Aah!” Greg’s shout and subsequent scramble backwards startled Draco and Vince. “Potter’s turned into a bat!”

Draco’s head snapped up. “What?!”

“Get it off! Get it off!” Greg cowered, arms covering his head, as a large brown bat swooped at him.

Draco rushed up the aisle with Vince at his heels. Potter was gone from the floor, and the shock of it caused Draco to trip over his own feet. He stumbled, lost his balance, and began falling. Vince snatched him around the waist with his hammy arms, righted him, and continued past to rescue Greg. He grabbed the bat.

The bat suddenly turned into a handful of thick black leeches.

“Shite!” Vince exclaimed, pivoted, and threw the leeches. The finger-long, slimy slugs flew through the air, directly towards Draco.

Draco squeaked manfully and covered his face. The leeches never hit, however. A pop sounded, followed by a heavy thud, and Draco peered from between his fingers.

A dead Harry Potter lay at his feet.

Draco stared in shock. “It’s a boggart.”

“A what?” Greg said.

Vince snickered. “We learned about them yesterday in Defence Against the Dark Arts, remember? Loopy Lupin found each class their own boggart to practice ritiki-tiki-culous on.” He ambled around the boggart and whapped Draco on the back, nearly knocked him over. “And you thought Potter had croaked.”

“What do bogies do again?” Greg said, scratching his short, bristly head.

“Boggarts,” Draco corrected faintly, eyes never straying from the ‘corpse.’ “They become your worst fear.”

“You’re afraid of Potter?”

Draco shook his head slowly. He realized what the boggart represented. “I don’t want him to die.”

Vince kicked “Harry’s” foot. “You’d have no one to whinge about non-stop if he were dead, anyway.”

Draco’s gaze tore away from the boggart and he glared at Vince. However, the hollow feeling still remained in his chest. He doubted it would ever fully dissipate. “I don’t whinge.”

Vince and Greg exchanged long looks. Draco bristled. “I don’t!”

With a pop of emphasis, the boggart changed shapes again. The three looked down.

“Leeches,” Draco said, rubbing his chest.

Vince shuddered. “I hate leeches.”

Greg scratched his backside and grinned. “We should put them in Pansy’s bed.”

 

 

_Now_

 

“I think Dog is lost.”

“Perhaps. It’s not like we know where we’re going anyway.”

The sun filtered through the heavy foliage of the trees. Its passage overhead was from east to west, consistent with the real world. The dampness of the ground remained, however, the heavy shade from the leaves preventing the sun from drying the earth. Their feet squished as they walked through the woods, leaves and mud sticking to their shoes.

It was relatively warm; a blessing, since all they had was the clothes on their backs. They’d removed their jumpers and ties, shrinking and pocketing them with their robes. Birds sang to each other in the branches of the trees. Grey and red squirrels, rabbits, and other small mammals scurried from sight at the group’s approach, rustling the leaves and tall grasses. Insects buzzed and crawled on the trees, barely visible as they passed.

Draco’s head throbbed with every step. He distracted himself by watching Harry’s arse. Harry, as well as his two friends, had shrunk and pocketed his school robes rather than wearing them. His school trousers wore nicely, shifting and clinging as he walked. Chalk one point up in Dumbledore’s favour for insisting on mixed Muggle-Wizard uniforms.

“If we ever get out of here, I’m going to spend the rest of my life riding a broom,” Ron said.

“Longbottom, that better have been your stomach growling.”

“It was,” Neville confirmed. He smiled shyly at Pansy over his shoulder. “I was debating whether I was hungry enough to eat the tree bark. My stomach votes yes.”

“Tree bark.” Pansy’s lips curled disdainfully.

Neville fell back, joining Pansy and Draco in the centre of the group. Harry walked in front, following Dog’s lead. Ron and Hermione brought up the rear, with Hermione chattering on about something. Draco had tuned her out an hour ago.

“All the plants I’ve seen have medicinal properties, but not nutritional ones,” Neville said to Pansy. “I suppose we could eat bugs…”

“I would rather starve,” Pansy said.

“Worms are also edible,” Neville went on.

“I’m going to transfigure you into a worm if you don’t shut it.”

“To keep you from going hungry, I wouldn’t mind.”  


Save him from playful Gryffindors. Draco glanced at Pansy, who apparently liked the pathetic attempt at flirtatiousness, and quickened his step. He caught up with Harry, who eyed him suspiciously. “Do you want something?” Harry asked bluntly.

“Pumpkin juice, a comb, and a chair. Not necessarily in that order.”

“Your hair is looking a little ratty.”

Draco’s hands nearly flew up to touch his head, but aborted action.   He scowled and quickly checked his hair when Harry looked away.

Harry’s own hair was still sticking up in back from sleeping. The sun seemed to be absorbed by the thick, black locks, tinting his hair a deep blue colour when he tilted his head. He’d rolled up his shirtsleeves, and his copper-coloured skin was darkening more with a tan. The muscles in his forearms flexed as he pushed up his glasses, the dark arm hairs laying in a messy crosshatch against his skin. Draco wondered where else the dark hair spread on Harry’s body.

Pondering naked lads was not conducive to walking comfortably, Draco admonished himself. He pulled his thoughts from Harry’s pants, with difficulty, and looked and listened instead to the woods around him. Harry walked silently beside him, their stride equal even though their legs were different lengths. Harry wore a peaceful expression, as if getting trapped in a book and ambling through an unknown forest beside someone he despised was a boon.

Draco tried to guess how long the peace would last. Or how long he could keep his mouth shut.

The sounds of the forest changed subtly with the group’s passing, settling as the dusk began. Dog loped ahead of them, disappearing from sight and then returning to nudge Harry before running ahead again out of sight. The shadows lengthened as the day began its transition into night. Draco watched the patterns of sunlight shift, contemplating life. It wasn’t very interesting.

“Do you hear that?” Harry said suddenly.

Draco tensed, looking around quickly. He listened intently for out-of-place sounds. From seemingly far away, he heard thunder. Harry had good ears.

A glance up at the sky through the leafy canopy showed no storm clouds overhead. The roll of thunder grew steadily in volume. Draco pulled out his wand. He brought his other hand up in a wide arc, capturing Pansy and Neville’s attention behind him, and tugged at his ear, indicating that he heard something.

Draco and Harry came to a stop. “What is it?” Ron asked, grabbing his wand as everyone else had.

The thunder was Ron’s answer, as it picked up in tempo and pitch, becoming audible to all. The sky remained clear through the branches of the trees. Beneath his feet, Draco felt a vibration build in intensity through the soles of his boots. Not rain, Draco thought, narrowed grey eyes searching the woods.

Dog returned, barking madly, running past them. Draco jumped and barely held back the curse on the tip of his tongue. Harry hadn’t moved at all, dismissing Dog with a flick of an eye, not startled by his appearance. Therefore, he was the one who saw the massive animal before it exploded from the trees, bearing right for them. “Oh, shite.”

Covered in light tan fur, the hoofed animal was twice the size of a regular horse with a rack of sharp black horns curving like spread hands from his skull. The animal was black-eyed and brown-nosed, with a short black-haired tail. He left deep hoof-prints in the ground, his massive stride eating the distance between himself and the group within seconds.

The animal shifted agilely for a creature of his size, changing course mid-gallop to go around the six. The thunder of his hoof-beats identified the sound they’d heard, but the noise did not dissipate after he passed.

“Move! Get to a tree!” Harry exclaimed. Draco sprinted after Harry as they ran towards a massive oak.

Like a sudden storm, a herd of the same animals burst from the woods, galloping after the lead male. There were too many of them, too wide spread, to do anything but get out of the way. Wands clenched in their hands and trying not to get trampled, Draco and Harry hugged the trunk of the tree, Draco’s foot getting tangled in a thorn bush at the base, as the animals thundered past. The ground shook beneath them, nearly upsetting their balance, as hundreds of hooves hit the muddy earth simultaneously.

Draco clenched his eyelids shut and sucked in his gut as the animals brushed by him. He didn’t know if it was the hammering of the hoof-beats or his heart pounding in his eardrums. The animals seemed to keep coming forever, but then they were suddenly gone, the hoof-beats fading and the subsequent quiet shocking to the ears.

Draco peeked cautiously before fully opening his eyes and prying his fingernails from the tree bark. He made certain Harry was all right before looking for his other friends. Ron and Neville were crowded against a tree, Ron holding Dog. Pansy and Hermione were also safe a short distance away.

“Everyone all right?” Harry asked, stepping away from the tree and tucking his wand into his belt.

“We’re fine, Harry,” Hermione answered, dusting off her skirt.

Draco yanked at his entangled foot, trying to free it from the thorn bush. Ron released Dog and Dog shot immediately for Harry. Dog jumped up, paws thumping against Harry’s chest, sending him stumbling backwards. He bumped into Draco, who was precariously balanced, knocking Draco over into the bush.

“Ow!”

Harry shoved Dog away. “Dog, get down.”

Draco struggled to stand without further sticking himself with thorns. The thorns were a two-centimetres long, pointed, and imbedded in his hands. His school robe thankfully protected him from getting stuck in the arse.

“Here. Hold still.” Harry drew his wand and pointed it at the bush, as Dog scampered off. “ _Laxare._ ”

The thorn bush set Draco free. Draco rose and took a large step away from the tree. He made an unhappy face at his scratched and thorn-stickered palms.

Harry stepped closer and captured a hand. Draco froze and he was at the campsite all over again. He stared at the crown of black hair, which desperately needing washing, on Harry’s down-turned head, as Harry plucked a few thorns from his left palm.

“There,” Harry murmured, rubbing his thumb lightly across the marred skin of Draco’s palm. Tingling shot directly from Draco’s hand to his groin. “Your other hand?”

“It’s fine,” Draco squeaked, hiding his hand behind his back. He couldn’t take any more torture.

Harry shrugged and didn’t wait for thanks – not that Draco was going to say it, anyway. He wandered over to Hermione, Ron, and Neville, standing a couple meters away, Dog trotting beside him.

Pansy grinned as she walked up to Draco. He scowled at her. “Be quiet.”

She laughed lightly. “Remove your robe. I’ll brush off the rest of the thorns.”

Draco smiled dryly. “I don’t think that would be a good idea right at this moment.”

“Well, that was relatively exciting.” Harry scratched the side of his head with his wand. “I can’t say that I’ve ever been nearly trampled before.”

“I wonder what species of animal they were,” Hermione said. “They were like nothing we’ve studied before. Elk come close, but the horns are differently coloured and shaped. I’ll have to go to the library when we get back to Hogwarts.”

“The library?” Ron nudged Harry. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her there before. You?” Harry snickered.

Draco calmed down enough to shed the school robe, shrunk it and stuck it in a pocket, Pansy brushed off the thorns on the back of his trousers by his ankles.

“Hurry up,” Draco said, picking thorns from his right hand. Pansy brushed a little harder than necessary, causing him to be pricked.

“As I was saying,” Hermione gave Harry and Ron a dark look. “Unless the animals are specific to the Tome of Entrapment, a species of fantasy with no basis in the real world. They could be the author’s creation.”

Neville looked the way the animals had gone. “Do you think they’ll come back?”

“I don’t know.” Hermione wore an expression of consternation. “They seemed rather in a hurry, but that could be normal.”

“Or something could be chasing them,” Ron suggested.

Six sets of eyes turned in the direction the animals had come from.

“Um, instead of standing here waiting to be eaten, why don’t we move?” Neville suggested.

“That’s probably a very good idea.” Harry snapped his fingers. “Home, boy.”

Dog barked and trotted off. Draco collected his wand from where he dropped it, getting pricked again from the thorn bush. The group followed quickly behind Dog, Draco straining to see if something had indeed been chasing the herd, so he knew when to run.

Harry stopped walking suddenly, causing Draco to walk smack into him. Draco’s hands latched around Harry’s waist reflexively, pulling Harry against him, back to chest, arse to groin. Harry grabbed Draco’s forearm, steadying them both, his wand pressed against Draco’s hand. His face was turned, looking back to see past Draco behind them. “Did you hear that?”

Draco was having difficulty hearing anything above the pounding of his heart. Having Harry’s warm, firm body pressed intimately against his messed with his normally clever tongue. “Huh?”

“What is it, Harry?” Hermione said, as the others stopped. She drew her wand. Pansy, Neville, and Ron also drew theirs.

Harry pulled out of Draco’s impromptu embrace, turned to face the direction they’d come, and looked tensely into the woods. “I heard something. Listen.”

Draco pushed aside his arousal, turned around, and drew his wand. He blocked out the normal sounds of the woods, straining to hear something out of place. From the corner of his eye, he saw Dog’s ears rise.

Harry must’ve had ears like a bloodhound, because while Draco heard nothing unusual, Harry tensed more beside him. Dog sniffed the air, lowered his head, and growled.

“There,” Harry whispered from behind Draco.

Draco heard a single snap of a twig. It was the only warning they received. A beast resembling a wolf exploded from the woods right for Draco and Harry. Its lips were curled in a snarl, exposing pointed, yellowed teeth. Lean muscle rippled under its grey-brown fur as it leapt at the two students, sharp claws extended to strike.

“ _Stupefy_!” Harry reacted instantly. The red burst of magic shot from his wand, past Draco’s shoulder, and hit the beast smack between the eyes.

The beast wasn’t phased nor stopped by the spell. The defensive charm absorbed into its body, the animal’s round black eyes glowing for an instant.

Draco spun around, latched onto Harry’s arm, and went to flee, but the beast slammed into his back, sending him and Harry sprawling to the ground, Draco landing on top of Harry. Sharp claws pierced his shoulders, the full weight of the beast pinning him over Harry. Drool was staining his collar.

“A worg!” Hermione exclaimed.

The hot, rancid breath against the nape of Draco’s neck vanished abruptly, as Dog attacked with a furious bark. The worg was knocked off Draco and the two animals rolled on the ground in a flurry of fur, teeth, and claws.

Draco looked down at Harry, flat beneath him. “Oh, god.”

“Yes. I know. Hurry, get up,” Harry said, pushing at Draco’s chest.

Draco rose quickly. He grasped Harry’s wrist, pulled him to his feet, and panicking, he assessed the situation. Everything seemed to occur in ultraslow speed, but at the highest rate of terror.

The area they’d stopped in was not wide, the thick trees hemming them in. Brush and rocks littered the muddy, leaf-strewn ground. They were spread in a jagged line, Dog and the worg he’d attacked rolling in a snarling tangle a few meters away. More than a half-dozen worgs, cousins to wolves with larger, more muscular bodies, emerged from between the surrounding trees at a run, aiming right for them.

“They’re immune to magic!” Hermione yelled. “Use your environment. Cast sinkholes in the ground or cause the trees to ensnare them!”

“ _Syrtis!_ ” Pansy cast instantly. The earth turned to soupy mud where the spell hit, sucking one of the worgs down like quicksand. Ron kicked up a whirlwind of leaves and dirt into three of worgs’ faces, to slow them down, as he ran in the opposite direction.

Exposed roots of a nearby towering tree pulled free of the earth with a groan, dirt flinging everywhere, and wrapped around a worg at Hermione’s command. She yipped and ducked when a root swung at her. Her glowing footprints lit up the area.

“ _Syrtis!_ ” Neville cast, but the worg had leapt, flying over the created sinkhole and tackling Neville to the ground. Neville punched the worg, his meaty fist connecting with the worg’s eye. Both yelped in pain.

“Neville!” Harry, the foolish idiot, stuck his wand up his sleeve and launched himself at the worg pinning Neville, just like Dog had done. Neville was free for only a second before another worg leapt on him.

Draco cursed mightily, darted around Neville and the worg, and transfigured a leaf into a rock. “ _Wingardium leviosa!_ ” The rock flew at the worg atop of Harry under Draco’s guidance and bounced harmlessly off its head.

“Bloody hell!” Ron had stumbled and fallen to the ground. He blocked a leaping worg with a wall of mud from one of Pansy’s sinkholes and sending mud also raining down on himself. He scrambled to his feet again.

Draco tried again, managing to make the transfigured rock bigger, and sent it flying. It smashed into the worg’s skull. The worg was knocked off balance, enabling Harry to scramble free.

Harry flicked his wand at the ground, transfiguring a leaf into a gleaming sword. He shoved away his wand, picked up the blade, and swung it at the worg. The worg let out a brief cry of pain as the sharp edge sliced into the top of its head before it collapsed to the ground, dead. Harry yanked the sword free, blood staining its blade.

Ron shoved Pansy out of the way, through the mud-wall, as a worg took him down. Harry darted forward, towards them.

Draco used the same rock on the worg hurting Neville. Dog interceded, taking the worg down, but not before it clawed Neville across the face.

Draco quickly surveyed the scene, panting wildly, heart banging against his chest. Four worgs were dead, possibly two had sunk into the mud, Dog was scrapping with another, and Harry was attacking an eighth. A heavily bleeding Neville tried to heal himself. Pansy helped Ron to his feet. Hermione strangled another worg with tree roots. Dog was victorious and left the dead worg where it lay.

“We need to get out of here.” Harry pulled the sword blade from the side of the deceased worg’s body. “Put some distance between us and this spot in case there are more.”

Howls rose in the air, sounding nearby.

Ron gulped. “Like them.”

“ _Sano_.” Pansy placed the tip of her wand against each claw mark across Neville’s face, healing them. She helped him to his feet. He wobbled and clutched his ribs.

Pansy looked at Harry. “I can’t heal Neville without more time.”

“We don’t have any.” Harry looked at Hermione. “Horses. Neville can ride and we have to follow Dog, so someone needs to stay human.”

“Right. Two on two, so you can use your wands against any worgs following.” Hermione swished her wand at Ron, and with a bang, transfigured him into a russet steed. Ron snorted and gave her a horse-eyed look that read, ‘A warning would’ve been nice.’

“Neville, Pansy, you ride Ron,” Harry began issuing orders, as he aimed his wand at Hermione. She transfigured into a second, smaller horse. “Malfoy—”

“I’d rather be eaten,” Draco interrupted with disgust. The truth was that he wanted to be under his own power. He walked quickly over to Pansy, tapping the handle side of his wand against his chest until she nodded subtly, and then tucked his wand in his belt. “Pansy?”

Pansy shifted so her back was to the others, flicked her wand at Draco, and whispered, “ _Canograndi_.”

The quietly spoken spell caused a bang, similar to the noise of a transfiguration, and Draco concentrated hard on Animagus shifting as quickly as possible. She could use the excuse of being somewhat shoddy at transfiguration to explain the slight delay between forms.

Blood and death flooded his nostrils as he fully changed into a coyote and he couldn’t help the salivation. Draco’s sharper hearing picked up stalking paw-steps in the not too far distance.

Harry dropped his sword, gave Pansy a leg up onto Ron’s back and then helped Neville. He then grasped Hermione’s mane and swung himself onto her back. “Malfoy, stay close. Let’s move! Dog, home!”

Dog barked and sped off. Without hesitation, Hermione set off at a gallop, following dog. Her hooves left glowing yellow prints, which Ron followed at a run, Pansy clinging to him and Neville clinging to her.

Three more worgs shot from between the trees behind them.

Draco spun around and snarled, ears flat to his skull and sharp teeth bared. His coyote form vibrated with a spike of adrenaline and fear. It was too late to run. The worgs didn’t stop charging and Draco sprang to meet them in a clash of claws and fangs.   

Draco snapped at one of the three, and his canine teeth clacked against the worg’s sharp fangs. A second worg came at him from the side and pain lanced his ear as it was bitten. Turning quickly, he chomped on the biter’s neck in return. A coppery taste filled Draco’s mouth as he ripped a chunk of flesh from the worg’s throat. The spray of blood stained his muzzle and brown furred chest. Draco had no time to feel victorious, however, as he was immediately leapt at by the other worg.

They tumbled tail over muzzle on the dirt and leaf-strewn ground, barking and snarling, rolling into a dead worg body. Draco growled and bit. The skin of his muzzle tore under the worg’s pointed teeth. His claws scrabbled at the worg’s belly, and he used his powerful hind legs to throw the beast off.

A sharp screech echoed in sky. Draco saw a blur of white streak down from above, aiming straight for the worg closest to him. Talons raked at the worg’s eyes, ripping them from their socket, completely blinding it. The beast howled in pain.

Draco used the distraction to attack the last worg. Draco’s paws skidded on the leafy ground as he spun around fast and barrelled top speed into the other animal. The worg was knocked sideways a full meter by Draco’s thick, canine skull, landing in one of the sinkholes Pansy had created.

Draco heard the crack of sticks breaking and another worg sped into the area from between the trees. It launched itself at Draco and they skidded across the ground. A slice burned across Draco’s belly. Powerful teeth closed on the back of his neck.

The scream of the snowy owl – Harry’s Animagus form, Draco realized with a mental curse – preceded its attack. Its strong, sharp talons were extended, majestic wings spread wide, as the owl shot from the sky towards the worg. The beast released Draco and snapped at the owl. High-pitched snarling from the worg and shrieks from the owl reverberated in the air.

Draco shoved to his four feet. Beneath him was the sword Harry had used to kill the other worgs, its blade stained dark with blood. Quickly, he morphed into his normal human self, picked up the sword, and rose to his feet. He turned just as the worg leapt at him and stumbled backwards, falling hard onto the ground with the weight of the worg on top of him. The worg snapped once, white feathers clinging to its mouth, and fell still. It had impaled itself on the sword.

Draco laughed without humour and pushed the animal off him. Pain lanced his body as he sat up. His body shook uncontrollably, with sweat slicking his dirty palms. He could feel blood sliding down his cheek. He looked around, hoping not to see any more worgs. He didn’t. Instead, he saw the owl that had come to his rescue lying unmoving in the dirt.

“Potter!” Draco rolled up and scrambled across the ground on his hands and knees. He reached the owl – Harry – and sucked in a harsh breath. Harry’s white feathers were mottled and stained brown and red from dirt and blood on his side. Glassy eyes stared unblinking at nothing. Leaves stuck to his body when Draco carefully picked him up and cradled him in the crook of an arm. He was so light, so still…

Draco’s eyes burned as he fumbled for his wand. His throat was tight, the spell word barely audible. “ _Ennervate_.” Blood dripped from his face, falling on the snowy crown of the unmoving owl. “ _Ennervate_. Damn you, Potter. _Ennervate_.”

The owl twitched and wheezed, and Draco nearly dropped his wand in relief. The body started shifting in his arms. Glassy green owl’s eyes closed and when they opened again, Harry’s green human eyes were dulled with pain behind his glasses. He stared at Draco a moment before rasping, “You’re hurt.”

“So are you.” Draco’s misty gaze raked over Harry’s face, moving downwards as he searched for injury to heal. Harry’s white school shirt was stained with blood under his arm.

Draco set his wand aside and unbuttoned Harry’s shirt awkwardly with one hand. His other arm cradled Harry still. Harry hissed as he pulled the shirt free of his trousers and Draco admonished roughly, “Don’t help. You’ll only make it worse.”

He pushed the edges of the shirt aside and frowned at the bad bite mark. The worg had bitten a chunk of flesh from Harry’s side, near his ribcage. He picked up his wand and used a charm Pansy had taught him. He ran the wand slowly over Harry’s torso, watching as the wand changed colour from blue (uninjured) to red (bleeding injury) in the rib area.

The bite didn’t seem to have damaged any necessary organs, but Pansy was better at finding and fixing internal injuries. He healed the bite as best he could. _Sano_ worked on superficial injuries primarily. He watched as the skin knit itself together before casting another spell. “ _Ferula_.” Bandages wrapped snugly around Harry’s torso, until Pansy could take a peek at him.

Draco searched further for more injury and then looked just to reassure himself that Harry was still in one piece. He swallowed back the emotion that had lodged in his throat. “There, you’re done.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. “Now let me do you.”

He moved, and Draco grunted in pain as a pointy elbow jabbed his injured stomach. He looked down and grimaced as Harry shifted onto his knees beside him. Blood was such a fashion faux pas.

“Unbutton your shirt while I get your face,” Harry instructed, pulling his wand and pointing it at Draco. “ _Scourgify_.”

Draco could see his reflection in Harry’s glasses. It wasn’t pretty. And his hair was a wreck.

As if in agreement, Harry pulled a face. “Your ear is a mess.”

“Then fix it already.” Draco hoped Harry didn’t notice his shaking hands as he unbuttoned his shirt.

Touching the tip of his wand to Draco’s face, Harry cast the healing charm on each of the claw scratches. He cleaned and cast the charm on Draco’s ear, then frowned at it. “I think you need a healing potion.”

Draco pulled the flaps of his shirt open and glanced down. Blood streaked his stomach, sliding down under the waistband of his trousers, but there were no organs spilling out, so Draco wasn’t too concerned. “ _Scourgify_ ,” he cast on himself to clean away the blood until all that remained was a smooth slice in his skin where the sword had cut him.

“Here, let me,” Harry said, touching his wand to Draco’s stomach. “ _Sano_.” The cut healed almost instantly and Harry sat back on his heels. “There. That’s the best I can do.”

Draco hummed in the back of his throat, not looking at Harry, who almost had been dead. He pulled the edges of his shirt together and began buttoning it. His hands were steadier this time.   

“Wait a minute,” Harry said suspiciously. “How did you know I was the owl? And how did you turn human again without someone ending the transfiguration?”

“Magic,” Draco answered with a sardonic twist of his lips. He heard hoof beats coming closer at a rapid clip and he rose shakily to his feet. The two horses clopped into view, Neville and Pansy still riding together on Ron’s back. Dog trotted over to Harry and lapped at the kneeling boy’s face before he got to his feet.

“Everything all right?” Pansy asked. She frowned at Draco’s ear.

“Lovely. You’ll have plenty of healing to do later.” Draco could feel Harry’s eyes boring into the back of his head. It was a relieving feeling.

Abruptly, Harry latched onto Draco’s arm, propelled him to Hermione, and ordered, “Get on.”

“Potter—”

“Now, Malfoy,” Harry grated. “Before I put you on her back myself.”

Coming from someone whose head barely cleared Draco’s chin, the threat didn’t seem too daunting, but Draco knew better. Draco sneered at him before grabbing hold of Hermione’s mane and swinging onto her back.

“ _Wingardium leviosa,_ ” Harry cast and directed himself easily onto the horse, in front of Draco. Draco scooted back, but Hermione was a small mare and he couldn’t move too far. Harry was practically nestled between his thighs, his back to Draco’s front, and Draco could smell the lemony shampoo underlying the dirt, blood, and sweat matting Harry’s hair. Harry, who had almost been dead, and Draco closed his eyes as they began moving.

“Dog, home!” Harry said, and they picked up speed, leaving the area quickly. Draco would have used the excuse of not wanting to fall off as he put an arm around Harry, but Harry did not ask.

With his eyes closed and Harry snug against him, Draco soaked in the physical contact of the person he wanted very much. This was the closest he’d ever been – not including rolling around the ground in a scuffle Fifth Year, but he didn’t like Harry then, anyway – and he would take full advantage of the opportunity to simply feel.

He needed to get trapped inside books more often.

The sun had set by the time they arrived at where Dog called home. It was little more than a shack made of dark grey stone with a sloped roof and, oddly, a small front porch. A chimney rose from the rear of the roof. A single window was set into the side of the home, curtained from the inside. Around the back was an outdoor shower and an outhouse stood a short distance away.

Worn, wooden crates of various sizes were piled, empty, beside the rough home. A rain barrel half-full of fresh rainwater sat at the back corner of the shack near the shower. On the porch, a high-backed rough wooden chair leaned against the wall on two post legs. An empty washtub and washboard sat off to the side. The only door had a rusted cast iron handle and hinges.

Reluctantly, Draco released Harry and dismounted. Pansy and Neville also dismounted, and Harry transfigured Ron and Hermione back to themselves.

Dog’s nails clicked as he paced back and forth on the porch. Harry climbed the two splitting porch steps, crossed to the door, and knocked. “Hello?” he called, knocking again. “Anyone here?”

“It’s dark inside,” Ron said from the side of the shack, peering in through the window, trying to see past the small crack in the curtains.

“It doesn’t look like anyone is here,” Harry said. Hermione ended her glowing footprint spell and joined him on the porch.

“Of course not,” Draco said. “The hunter is toes-up in the dirt.”

“That doesn’t mean he lived alone.” Harry knocked again, then wrapped his hand around the rusted door handle and pulled.

“What are you doing?!” Draco exclaimed, darting onto the porch, pushing past Hermione, and knocking Harry’s hand away. Thankfully, the door hadn’t opened.

“Um, opening the door?”

“It’s a wonder you’re still alive, Potter. This is a _wizard’s_ home. You don’t just go barging in without checking for wards and protection spells.”

“The shack is in the middle of the woods,” Harry said, waving his arm at said woods. “There’s no need for protection spells.”

“There need to be protection spells _because_ the shack is in the middle of the woods!” Draco wanted to throttle him. “Don’t you have any common sense?   Oh wait, you’re a Gryffindor. Never mind, then.”

“Malfoy’s right, Harry, I _really_ hate to say it,” Ron said with a disgusted expression, like he’d swallowed something foul. “Most wizards ward their doors. Even if we haven’t run into that problem all these years, it doesn’t hurt to check.”

“ _Detectum tutela!_ ” Hermione took matters into her own hands with a swish of her wand at the door, checking for wards. “Nothing.”

“ _Alohomora!_ ” Harry cast, nudging Draco aside. The door unlocked and he pulled it open. He poked his head inside. “Hello?”

Dog pushed past him and ran into the shack. Lanterns hanging from hooks in the walls flamed to life automatically, illuminating the shack’s interior.

The one room home was relatively bare. A narrow bed with a pillow and eiderdown was pushed against one wall under the window. A cast iron wood stove sat in the far corner, its black pipe rising to the ceiling. A squat icebox nestled beside a single sink with a water pump. A rickety wood table and equally rickety wood chair occupied most of the floor space. Clothing pegs with robes hung near the door, with an open trunk with folded garments beneath. Bundles of ropes and humane traps were piled on the floor near the table.

Dog went directly to a bowl filled partially with water and started lapping. Harry and Hermione entered the shack, with Ron following. On the porch, Draco spoke quietly to Neville as he passed. “You look like crap. Get some sleep. Pansy and I will cover tonight.”

Neville agreed without arguing, testifying to how badly off he really was from his muddy drowning and the worg attack. He went inside, leaving Pansy and Draco alone.

Draco looked wanly at Pansy as she stepped onto the porch. “Potter is going to be the death of me.”

“Your taste in men does leave something to be desired,” Pansy said.

“Look who’s talking.”  


Pansy patted his cheek mockingly. “Yes, but I like you anyway.” She lowered her hand and studied him a moment. “Something happened, didn’t it?”

“Nothing of consequence,” Draco said, dismissing her concern. “But check over Potter, just in case.”

“I’ll be checking you over, as well.” Pansy stepped closer and examined his ear. “Potter was worried when he saw you weren’t with us.”

Draco snorted. “Right.”

“Then why did Potter show up before we did?” she said. “And don’t give me any gaff about us not protecting him. He turned into an owl and flew off with barely a word of warning.”

“Potter’s an idiot, we’ve already established that,” Draco said waspishly. “Now, can we go inside? I, for one, am bloody hungry.”

Pansy gave him an arched look, indicating he wasn’t fooling anyone, but let it drop and went inside.

Draco took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It sucked being in love.


	6. The Hunter’s Shack

_Then_

 

“Goyle – hold still,” Draco growled, gripping Greg’s head so he wouldn’t slip off. The short bristles of Greg’s hair prickled Draco’s palms. Greg stopped shifting and grasped Draco’s knees firmly.

Draco relaxed slowly and looked at his companions. Vince and Marcus Flint were dressed in Dementors’ robes, like him, hidden under the Slytherin bleachers on the Quidditch pitch. Perched on Greg’s shoulders, the cold, February wind nipped at Draco’s ears beneath the black robe’s hood. Beyond the bleachers, the thirteen-year-old could hear the cheers of the students as Ravenclaw scored against Gryffindor. Soon, Ravenclaw would be the winner, thanks to Draco and his Housemates.

Draco peered through a crack up at the sky, waiting for the right moment. The prank had been Greg’s idea, although inadvertently. He, Vince, and Draco had been doing homework together at a table in the Slytherin common room. They had been talking about the latest Quidditch match, at which Slytherin had narrowly beaten Ravenclaw.

“We’re getting worse,” Vince had grunted. “And Hufflepuff’s seeker is better than Chang.”

“You let me worry about Diggory,” Draco had said. “Concentrate on knocking the chasers off their brooms, unlike last game.”

“Too bad Potter can’t faint at every match,” Greg had commented, scratching his ear with his quill and getting ink all over his cheek and neck. “Slytherin would win the cup for certain, then.”

Draco and Vince had looked at Greg and then at each other. Later that night, they had cornered the captain, Marcus Flint, and told him the idea. Now, a week later, they stood under the bleachers in Dementors’ robes, waiting to put the plan into action.

Overhead, the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw seekers spotted the snitch and streaked after it. That was the cue. “Let’s go,” Draco said.

With Vince in the lead – or was it Marcus? – the three “Dementors” emerged from their hiding spot.

Draco had warned the Twins, Neville, and the other two at the “Protect Potter” meeting on Thursday that if something happened at the Quidditch match, it was more than likely caused by him. In face of vociferous protests, he’d said, “Simply because I’m assisting you lot, does not mean I’m nice.”

Draco and his friends lined up at the edge of the field and raised their hooded faces towards the sky. Draco could see the moment they were noticed. He chortled gleefully in his mind as Cho Chang pointed and Harry Potter looked down.

Greg shifted and Draco gripped his hair tighter, head lowering. “Hold still, you oaf. If I fall, you’ll—”

“AAH!”

Draco’s head whipped up at Vince’s yell and froze. An enormous, silver-white beast with a rack of sharp horns charged straight at them. Draco’s face drained of colour, huge eyes staring at the monstrous animal, as terror overwhelmed him. Petrified, with a rushing sound in his ears, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t scream. He couldn’t even breathe.

Greg, however, shouted as Vince rammed into them in his flight from the animal. Greg stumbled backwards, with Draco on his shoulders, and they crashed into Flint. Greg lost his balance completely, and the four of them landed in a robe-tangled heap on the ground.

Eye-contact broken, Draco was able to move again. Terror fuelled his scream and struggle to get away. The robes hampered him, the hood blinding his vision. He could hear the roars of the crowd, cheering his inevitable death.   Sweat broke out on his uncontrollably shaking body. He managed to free a hand and yanked the hood from his head, messing his hair.

The gigantic beast was gone. Draco’s head jerked around as he searched for the animal. He saw nothing but the Quidditch stadium, students rushing onto the field, and Professor McGonagall swooping upon them like a banshee.

“How dare you!” McGonagall shouted furiously. “I am appalled and ashamed Hogwarts students would do such a thing! You’re lucky Mr. Potter’s Patronus could not physically harm you!”

Relief flooded Draco, followed by embarrassment at the knowledge the beast had been incorporeal. Then, came anger. Potter had successfully done such a powerful spell and, by the cheering swarm of red and gold on the field, had also caught the snitch. The prank had failed spectacularly.

“An unworthy trick!” McGonagall carried on, as Draco struggled to extricate himself from the robe. “A low and cowardly attempt to sabotage the Gryffindor seeker! Detention for all of you, and fifty points from Slytherin! I shall be speaking to Professor Dumbledore about this, make no mistake! Ah, here he comes now!”

Draco fumbled with the hooks on the robe, kneeling above Goyle’s head on the ground. He could see Weasley doubled over in laughter standing beside Harry a short distance away. Humiliation flooded Draco, churning like acid inside him at the smirk on Harry’s face. He _hated_ Potter. The need for retribution burned in him.

Things used to be so much simpler when he wanted Potter dead.

 

 

_Now_

 

Draco stood on the porch, leaning a shoulder against the post supporting the overhang of the roof. One foot was casually crossed over the other at the ankle as he kept watch. He unbuttoned the collar of his white shirt, but his shirttails remained neatly tucked in and his shirtsleeves cuffed properly. Simply because Draco was wandering the woods did not mean he should lose his sense of decorum.

The night was pleasantly warm, the stars clearly visible in the sky. Draco had escaped outside as soon as he’d eaten dinner, made by Harry from the deceased hunter’s food stores, and after Pansy had better healed his injuries. The camaraderie and laugher had gotten on his nerves. Pansy had chosen to insinuate herself into the conversation and Draco was left alone.

Eventually, Ron and Neville came outside, Ron assisting an exhausted-looking Neville around the shack to shower. Ron eyed Draco suspiciously as he passed. Pansy and Hermione went together to shower next, chatting like childhood friends, after Ron and Neville came back. The girls were giggling, still, when they returned. 

Pansy looked chuffed when she finally joined Draco on the porch. Her hair had been dried by a charm and was perfectly groomed. She wore the same hunter green robes as before, but a fresh scent wafted gently from them, indicating they, too, had been cleaned.

“I think Little Miss Prissy Pants has a crush on Longbottom.” Pansy righted the porch chair. “Too bad for her. _Scourgify_.” She tucked away her wand and sat primly on the newly cleaned seat. “She had years to hook up with him, but didn’t. Now that he’s interested in someone else, she’s jealous and wants him for herself.”

“Are you going to catfight?” Draco questioned lazily, shifting so he could see her and still keep watch. He hadn’t seen any evidence of the supposed crush, but Pansy got this way with blokes she liked. “Over _Longbottom_?”

Pansy glared. “Neville Longbottom is a laudable, pureblood wizard, as you very well know.”

Draco hummed noncommittally. 

“You just think anyone but yourself is unworthy.”

Draco smiled. “True.”

“Too bad I’d never date you, even if I had bits you liked,” Pansy said. “You’re prettier than me and that would never do.”

“I am prettier, aren’t I?” he preened. “No one can resist me.”

Pansy made a derisive sound. “I can name many, including a certain Gryffindor.”

Draco more pouted than scowled in her direction. “Don’t remind me.”

“Perhaps you should give up on him. Find someone else and seduce him. Salazar knows, you need a shag.”

“Pansy!”

“What?” Pansy looked him over. “You’re a few days away from being eighteen and you’re wound tighter than McGonagall’s hair bun. A good buggering would do wonders.”

Draco did scowl this time. “My personal life is no longer up for discussion.”

Pansy laughed. “What personal life? You haven’t been on a single date since we went to the Yule Ball together in _Fourth_ Year, and we went as friends.”

“I happen to have distinguished tastes,” Draco said. “Unlike someone I know.”

Pansy laughed even more. “Draco, darling, you are so full of it.”

Draco sniffed dramatically and took to ignoring his oldest friend as she laughed herself silly at his expense.

Pansy calmed eventually, and when Draco glanced over at her, she grinned unrepentantly. Her cheeks were flushed rosy and her eyes shining brightly with true amusement. A single hair had escaped its artful do and curled over her forehead. She was quite attractive, in her own way. He could see why Neville would want her.

Draco shifted against the post and hissed when a sharp wood splinter scraped him. He stopped leaning, craned his arm behind him, and touched his lower back. His shirt wasn’t ripped, thankfully, though it felt like his skin didn’t fare up.

Grumbling silently, Draco started off the porch. “I’m going to get cleaned up. Keep watch, eh?”

“Take your time.” Pansy’s grin became devilish. “Have a toss and relax a bit.”

“Very amusing,” Draco drawled. Her chuckles followed him around the corner of the shack, as he headed off to shower.

The outdoor shower was a three-sided cubicle butted up against the rear of the shack, magically waterproofed to prevent wood rot. A ledge spanned the length of one of the shoulder-high walls, a few capped bottles and scrub brushes of various sizes scattered along it. A rusty pipe ran from a pump upwards and curved over the cubicle wall into a showerhead. A flick of Draco’s wand started the pump and ensured the water would be warm.

He set his wand on the ledge and stripped. He draped his clothes over the end of the wall, his boots lined neatly on the ground outside the cubicle. The night air was warm and his bare skin seemed to glow in the full moonlight. He was unashamed of his body, his lean musculature sculpted from years of Quidditch. It was a good thing, because the shower stall had no door or curtain.

Stepping onto the stone platform, Draco tugged the shower chain and a warm spray rained down on him from the showerhead. The end of the chain looped on a hook on the cubicle wall, keeping the water running. He dropped his chin, letting the warm water pour over him, soaking his hair and washing away the day’s dirt from his body. _Scourgify_ was well and good for a cleansing charm, but bathing was the only way to truly feel clean.

He closed his eyes as exhaustion set in. He’d been awake for at least thirty-six hours already and the circles under his eyes must be awful. He needed to get some sleep before he looked truly hideous.

With a tired sigh, he opened his eyes and lifted his head. Bubbles on the cap indicated which bottle the others had used. Draco poured a small amount of the creamy white liquid in his palm and set the bottle on the ledge without recapping it.

He rubbed his palms together and began washing his hair. The soap had a woodsy scent, fresh and green. Draco rid all traces of spell-gel, rinsing it off with the sudsy lather. The white suds skated along the rock slab beneath his feet, running into the leafy ground outside of the shower cubicle.

The gentle splash of water as it rained from the showerhead onto the rock slab was a soothing sound. Draco poured another dab of liquid soap into his palm, put aside the bottle, and rubbed the woodsy scent into his skin. The soap shimmered iridescently on his pale body in the moonlight, as he slid his hands up and under his arms, over his shoulders and neck, down his chest and stomach, over his hips and genitals, and around to his back.

“Ow,” Draco said, more in surprise than pain. He slid a soapy finger carefully along his lower back, wincing slightly at the raised scrape from the porch’s post. He glanced at his shirt where it hung over the wall and frowned unhappily at the few dots of blood staining the previously cleaned, white material.

Draco rinsed off then twisted his upper body, trying to see the damage and whether or not he was still bleeding. He extended his left leg behind him, bare toes slipping on the rock slab. His arm was stretched around his back so he was able to nearly grab his right hip as he twisted. He craned his neck, and was just able to see the edge of the scrape—   

“Oh, sorry.”

“AH!” Draco whipped around, grabbed his wand from his ledge, and faced the surprise intruder. Harry stood outside the shower, wearing only his school trousers, shoes, and a baffled look. His upper half was bare, his skin a coppery colour in the full moonlight, clean of dirt, blood, and sweat by a spell before dinner. He was lean, with lightly defined chest and stomach. A dark trail of hair arrowed down from his navel beneath the waistband of his trousers, and his nipples were a pale chocolate that begged to be tasted.

Draco spun around, turning his back to Harry, and swallowed thickly. “ _Frigidus_ ,” he mumbled with a gesture of his wand and stepped directly under the now-freezing shower spray.

“You scream like a girl,” Harry said, bemused.

“And you’re staring at me like one,” Draco responded bitingly, though his voice rasped embarrassingly.

“I didn’t know you were back here. Pansy didn’t say anything.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “That little wench.”

“What?”

“Potter, do you mind?” Draco struggled not to shiver from the cold. “I’d like to finish my shower without your pervy eyes on me.” Plus, if he knew Harry was watching… Draco shivered for another reason entirely.

“It’s not like you have anything interesting to see, Malfoy.”

“The rest of Hogwarts would contradict your opinion,” Draco said. Though, with the cold water, parts of him currently resembled a shrivelfig.

“Not in Gryffindor. We use your centrefold picture for target practice,” Harry said. “Nasty scrape. Want me to heal it?”

The abrupt change of topic caused Draco to flounder and utter an elegant, “Huh?”

“I asked if you wanted help.”

“No, I don’t want your help,” Draco said. “Now, naff off.”

He yanked the shower chain off the hook, grabbed his trousers as the water shut off, and tried to put them on. His wet skin hindered him and instead of stopping to dry himself with a spell, both damp legs caught on the material of the trousers and he lost his balance. His wand clattered to the ground as he hopped once, twice, and over he went, smacking into the side wall with his right shoulder, nearly toppling forward and hitting his skull on the shower head.

Small, warm hands were suddenly on his bare back, steadying him. “Careful, there, Malfoy.” The laughing admonishment was a hot gust against his cool, wet skin between his shoulder blades. A shiver coursed down his spine, raising bumps on his arms and legs.

Draco gulped and looked down. He was becoming obviously enamoured of Harry’s close proximity. He could feel the heated blush of embarrassment splash traitorously across his pale skin.

He froze in place when he felt calloused fingertips brush down his back, catching on the fine hairs on his skin. Those torturous fingers ghosted over the scrape. His breath caught in his throat, his muscles jumping at the touch.

“Are you certain you don’t want me to heal this?” Harry asked blandly, as if he didn’t care one way or another but was being polite.

Draco couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. People didn’t touch him as intimately as Harry was doing. Only Pansy dared to lay a hand on him. It had been years since his parents had demonstrated affection towards him.

And here was Harry Potter, touching him freely and gently for the third time today. It was a surprise he was still standing upright, though his locked knees probably had something to do with that.   

“I’ll take your silence as a yes, because you’d never voluntarily ask for help.” A hand settled on Draco’s left hip, the tip of a wand lightly touched his back, and another hot breath of air gusted across his skin. “ _Sano_.”

Draco might have gibbered like a monkey if he was capable of making a sound. He stared sightlessly at the showerhead, the thin shower chain swinging in the moonlight like a slow pendulum with each of his unsteady exhales. His pulse ticked visibly in his neck and in his cock. His hands hung limply at his sides, his trousers forgotten around his calves and tangled under his feet. The dampness of the rock slab beneath him soaked through the material of his trousers and wet the soles of his feet. Tremors ran through his body with the tingling of magical healing.

“Any more?” Harry said. He put his hand on Draco’s shoulder, the point of his wand visible in Draco’s peripheral vision, and tugged him around. Draco’s feet and damp legs were still trapped by his trousers and he was knocked off-balance again. Harry reacted reflexively.

There was a moment where time seemed to stop entirely, when Harry’s left hand found something to hold onto. The night wildlife went silent around them as the world stood still. Draco stared into uncovered, wide green eyes, glasses frozen partway down Harry’s nose. Harry’s mouth hung open, lips shiny from licking.

A droplet of water, full and heavy, dripped from the showerhead above and splashed on Harry’s arched collarbone.

Draco’s hips jerked suddenly and he gasped sharply in unbelievably exquisite pleasure. Harry snatched his hand away, flushing pink from forehead to navel. Draco clamped his hands in front of his groin, trying futilely to hide his erection and not climax on the spot.

Mortification hit, a bright wash of red heating his pale skin from head to toe.

Harry snapped out of his shock, turned on his bare heel, and left. Fast footsteps broke the stillness of the woods and time resumed with horrified clarity. Draco burned with embarrassment and humiliation. His movements were jerky, as he pulled up and fastened his trousers. His erection strained against the zip and he gave himself a vicious twist. Gathering his other clothing and wand, he walked stiltedly around the shack and deposited the items on the porch with Pansy.

“I’ll be back,” he told her, and dropped to all fours with a pop before she could question him, the Animagus change completed in a moment. He fled from the shack into the woods.

His canine form protected him from the other animals and beasts in the woods, but not from his thoughts. How could his body betray him like it had? How could he have stood there and let Harry touch him? Why hadn’t he said ‘no’ to help? Why hadn’t he moved? How could he ever look Harry in the eye again?

Mordred, what if Harry _told_? There were no insults strong enough to counter Weasley if he had this information, or anyone else for that matter. Harry might have grabbed him on accident, but he was the one who had an unmistakable hard-on after being touched by another guy. And he knew Harry had seen him unaroused when he’d first startled Draco. He would be laughed at and mocked unrelentingly for the remainder of the school year and possibly beyond.

And once his father found out…

Draco tried to outrun his mortification. He wanted the earth to open up and swallow him, like it had Neville. He wanted to keep running and never turn back. His secret was tattered irreparably. How was he going to face anyone again? What—

Draco stopped running abruptly, paws skidding slightly on the muddy, leaf-strewn ground. He lifted his nose and sniffed the air. His ears pricked.

There were other humans in the woods.

Swiftly and silently, Draco followed the scent. He crept between the trees, hearing low conversation before he caught sight of the camp. Body low to the ground, he slinked closer and hid under the cover of a poison berry bush.

There were four of them, wizards dressed in black robes with hoods down, sitting in chairs around a campfire. A single plain brown tent stood between two tall trees nearby. The four were drinking from mugs and chatting amicably.

Draco stayed still, watched, and listened. He couldn’t figure out from conversation who they were or why they were there. Either way, it was worrisome. They weren’t camped too far from the shack.

“Pour me some more, Roderick,” one of them said, shaking his empty mug. He extended his arm over the fire, passing the mug to Roderick seated opposite him.

The wood crackled and sparked, and the fire blazed slightly. The wizard’s robe sleeve caught alight and he yelped. He yanked his arm back and batted at the small flames. The other three laughed.

“It’s not funny,” he snapped, the flames extinguished. He shoved up his sleeve and raised his arm to check for damage. On his forearm, a black tattoo of a skull with a snake emerging from its mouth stood out clearly in the campfire light.

A growl built in the back of Draco’s coyote throat. Ron had been right, there were Death Eaters inside the book.


	7. Death Eater Threat

_Then_

 

“Ladies and gentlemen…welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!”

Ludo Bagman’s voice boomed from the Top Box and Draco Malfoy forced himself not to cover his ears. In front of him, Fred and George Weasley threw a handful of wrapped toffees in the air like confetti. One flew directly at him, hitting him in the centre of his chest. Two full years as Slytherin’s seeker had honed his reflexes and he snatched the candy before it fell into his lap. He glanced at the colour-shifting wrapper in his palm then at the Twins.

Fred was looking at Draco over his shoulder, tugged the end of his freckled nose, and whispered something in George’s ear.

“And now, without further ado, let me introduce…the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!”

Veela, Draco knew, were the mascots of the Bulgarian team. His father had cast a deafening spell on him before they’d come to the game, preventing him from hearing music. It wouldn’t do for a Malfoy to slobber like a commoner when the Veela danced. A quick look around the Top Box showed nearly all the males – and one or two females – rising out of their seats and staring dazedly at the Veela. Even Harry Potter, who was sitting a row ahead and a half-dozen seats down between Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, was enraptured.

The fourteen-year-old snorted, earning a reproachful look from his father at the indelicate sound. Draco didn’t apologize, but looked down in recrimination. From the corner of his eye, he saw his father return to watching the mascots dance. Draco’s mother sat primly on the other side of him, ignoring him completely.

Draco hid his hands in his lap and rapidly unwrapped the toffee. He knew better than to eat anything the Twins gave him and allowed the candy to fall to the floor. Carefully, he smoothed out the wrapper, darted another glance at his parents, and read what was written on the candy paper.

_CROSS-EYED PRATS._

Draco crumpled the wrapper and let it join the toffee on the floor. Angry yelling suddenly filled the stadium as the Veela stopped their performance. Ludo Bagman’s amplified voice shouted over the crowd.

“And now, kindly put your wands in the air…for the Irish National Team Mascots!”

A green-and-gold comet zoomed into the stadium and circled once before splitting into two smaller comets. The two comets streaked towards opposite goal posts and a rainbow arced suddenly across the field, connecting the two balls of light. Sounds of approval and amazement rose up from the crowd.

Draco crossed his eyes and looked in Harry’s direction, as the two balls of light rejoined in the centre of the field and merged to form a shimmering green shamrock. The shamrock rose into the sky and began soaring over the stands. Golden coins rained from the shamrock, seeming to disappear when they hit the golden glow of Harry’s outstretched hand.

Draco uncrossed his eyes and Harry no longer glowed. He wondered what the Twins had used to create such an effect and how long it lasted. He bet it would at least last the night, considering their oddly obsessive need to protect Harry at all times.

Not that Harry needed protecting any longer. The threat from Sirius Black had vanished, as Draco had learned from the Twins that Black was not responsible for Harry’s parents’ death. The explanation had included illustrations and re-enactments, including an annoyed Draco being transfigured into a grim, Black’s Animagus form, at the last of the year PRATS meeting. And what a horrid name the Twins had invented for the group: the Potter Rescue and Tending Society, or PRATS. It reminded Draco that he was a prat, himself, for associating with them.

Granted, Draco still didn’t want Harry dead, but he had done some thinking over the summer hols, as he lazed on his balcony at the Manor overlooking the grounds, reading magazines, gossiping with Pansy, or playing Exploding Snap with Vince and Greg. He no longer wanted to be part of PRATS, which the Twins planned to keep going, threat or not; it was tedious attending meetings and he could torment Harry anytime he wished, anyway. He’d inform Neville or the Twins when school began again.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome – the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team!”

~*~

Draco stared as a crowd of hooded, silver-masked wizards moved in a laughing, jeering mass. Above their heads, held aloft by their wands, were four Muggles, the campsite manager and his family. They jerked as if on strings to the hoots and hollers below them. The smallest Muggle child was spun like a top high up in the air, which was actually pretty amusing. Tents were blasted out of the way or set on fire as the swarm of black-robed wizards cut a path through the campground.

“Death Eaters!” someone yelled, and Draco started. Death Eaters? But he thought there were no more Death Eaters, since You-Know-Who had disappeared, thanks to Scarhead. His father had told him so.

Screams and crying rose around him as more masked Death Eaters joined the group. Wizards and witches and any children in their way were hit with hexes and curses. People fled into the woods surrounding the camp as Ministry officials tried to get to the Muggles. It looked as though they were scared to perform any spell that might make the family fall. A few of the adult wizards and witches joined the Ministry, and the Death Eaters swelled in response.

Draco had the sudden urge to flee, and turned and ran from his tent, where he’d been standing in the door flap watching. He wasn’t quite sure where he was going. He dodged adults and children, fallen tents and burning embers. Robes held up so as not to trip, he leapt over a child no more than three convulsing on the trampled ground.

He circled the camp and the Death Eaters. The Weasley tents loomed ahead of him, still standing unharmed. He saw Mrs. Weasley with her wand drawn and her plump face creased in a hard scowl outside of one of them. A redhead with glasses came fumbling out of the tent, trying to pin a Ministry badge to his lapel.

“Percy! Get into the woods with the others!”

“But mother—”

Draco shifted gears and bolted for the trees. The Weasleys might be poor, but they weren’t stupid. Actually, they were stupid, especially Ron, but the woods were thick with fleeing wizarding families, so it seemed like the place to go.

But panic made wizards and witches push and shove in the darkness, the coloured lanterns that had lit the path to the stadium having been extinguished by the Death Eaters. Trees, roots, branches and brambles grabbed at them. Fearful shouts and crying children filled the cold night air.

Elbows jabbed Draco, people slammed against him, and he ricocheted off of unseen trees. He tripped and crashed unceremoniously into the dirt with an _oof_. Hands stinging, Draco pushed himself to his feet and shot off again.

He heard Ron Weasley yell in pain close by and he slowed. “What happened?” Hermione Granger’s voice asked in the darkness. “Ron, where are you? Oh this is stupid – _lumos!_ ”

The three were directly in front of him. Draco pulled up short, as the glowing tip of Hermione’s wand lit the area. Ron was sprawled on the ground at Hermione’s feet. Harry stood beside her, an anxious expression on his face.

“Tripped over a tree root,” Ron said angrily, getting to his feet.

“Well, with feet that size, hard not to,” Draco drawled from behind them. He leaned against a tree, arms crossed to hide his trembling hands.

“How would you like my foot up your tight, poncy arse?”

“Language, Weasley,” Draco said. “Hadn’t you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn’t like _her_ spotted, would you?” He nodded at Hermione at the same time a blast sounded from the campsite. A flash of green light momentarily lit the woods. Draco’s stomach dropped.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione said.

“Granger, they’re after Muggles,” Draco said. “Do you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around…they’re moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh.”

“Hermione’s a witch,” Harry pointed out.

“Have it your own way, Potter.” Draco grinned maliciously, hoping its fakeness wasn’t evident. He wasn’t feeling too malicious at the moment, not that he wouldn’t mind seeing Hermione get hers. “If you think they can’t spot a Mudblood, stay where you are.”

“You watch your mouth!” Ron shouted, fists bunching.

“Never mind, Ron.” Hermione grabbed Ron’s arm as he took a step towards Draco.

A loud bang came from the other side of the trees, followed instantly by several screams. Draco’s lips froze in his smile as panic seized him at the nearness of the attack. The Death Eaters were almost upon them. Why wasn’t he running? Now was not the time to worry about his pride.

“Scare easily, don’t they?” Draco said around the fear choking him, but at least it made his voice sound lazy and uncaring. “I suppose your father told you all to hide? What’s he up to – trying to rescue the Muggles?”

“Where’re _your_ parents?” Harry said angrily. “Out there wearing masks, are they?”

Draco stiffened. His parents were _not_ Death Eaters. “Well, if they were, I wouldn’t be likely to tell you, would I, Potter?”

Hermione gave him a disgusted look. “Oh come on, let’s go and find the others.”

“Keep that big bushy head down, Granger,” Draco sneered.

“Come _on_ ,” Hermione repeated, and she pulled Ron and Harry up the path, away from Draco.

Draco slumped against the tree the moment they were out of sight. He shoved a shaky hand through his hair, making a mess of it. A piercing headache stabbed suddenly behind his eyes and he rubbed them hard with his thumb and forefinger. A red flash lit the woods to his left, accompanied by a scream, and he took off in the direction Harry, Ron, and Hermione had gone.

He caught up with them and could hear them talking as he trailed silently behind, out of sight. He couldn’t see them, either, but as long as they kept speaking he was reassured. They had to know the way out of danger, and also, the Twins had given Draco that candy. There were bound to be other PRATS members nearby, protecting Harry and, by default, anyone with him, including Draco if he stepped up his pace.

The path wound deeper into the woods. He passed a few French girls who asked him if he’d seen Madam Maxine, and he snapped that he had not, answering in French. A group of goblins passed a sack of gold between them, seemingly unconcerned of the Death Eaters heading towards them. He heard a few wizards arguing over whether to confront the Death Eaters or not, and Ludo Bagman’s voice.

But then suddenly everything was quiet. Draco’s footsteps faltered, sounding loud on the dirt path, as he strained to listen for Harry and the others. He halted and crossed his eyes, but there was no glow to be seen.

“ _MORSMORDRE!_ ”

The world dropped out from beneath Draco’s feet as the trees ahead of him lit up with a vast, green glittering light. The light rose rapidly above the treetops, but instead of a shamrock it formed a huge skull with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. It blazed against the night sky like a beacon – a beacon of death.

The woods erupted in screams, and Draco didn’t realize his voice had joined in until it cracked. “ _No!_ ” The Dark Mark illuminated the woods, casting everything in a sickening green glow. Draco knew what the skull represented – Death Eaters conjured it whenever they had killed someone. 

“Potter!” Draco tripped over his robes as he sprinted forward, and he went sprawling on the ground. He shoved himself to his feet and stumbled along the path. Fear and dread stabbed his gut like a razor-sharp blade.

“ _STUPEFY!_ ” Ahead of him, blurry flashes of red light bounced off the trees, rebounding into the woods. Draco ducked as the spell-light whizzed overhead. He veered left, leaving the path.

“Stop! STOP! That’s my son!”

Draco skidded to a halt, crashing into a tree trunk. He grabbed the trunk and peered around it. A circle of wizards with Ministry badges stood in a clearing. In the centre were Ron, Hermione, and Harry, looking dirty and dishevelled but unhurt.

Something expanded in the middle of Draco’s chest that felt much more powerful than relief. He swallowed a hysterical laugh, his fingers digging into the bark of the tree. His knees trembled and he sunk silently to the ground, nails scratching thin gouges on the trunk. He dropped his chin, squeezed his eyes shut, and listened to Harry’s animated voice as he spoke to the wizards. 

 

 

_Now_

 

Death Eaters.

Draco’s body shook from forcing himself to hold still. He was smart enough not to attack. At most he’d get two of them before he was taken down, if he could get close at all. They undoubtedly had wards up for protection against both animals and spells. He couldn’t do this alone.

He didn’t go for help yet, however. He stayed in his hiding spot, under the cover of a poison berry bush. His pointed ears twitched with every sound, his senses on hyper-alert, as he listened to the older Death Eaters converse. He didn’t know if they were alone or if there were others.

He waited for as long as he thought was safe, but they didn’t say anything of importance, other than their names: Roderick, Charlton, Hopkins, and Wiltshire, none of which he knew. Eventually, he backed away quietly from his hiding spot, and when he was clear, took off running, stopping briefly at several points to mark the trail.

Pansy stood when Draco came running to the shack. He joined her on the porch, morphing quickly out of his Animagus form.

“Death Eaters,” he said, grabbing his shirt from the neat pile beside the porch chair. Jerkily, he shoved his arms into the sleeves. “Four of them, camped in the woods not too far from here.”

Pansy uttered an unladylike word. “My feelings exactly,” Draco said. He left his shirt unbuttoned, sat on the chair, and pulled on his socks and boots. “We need to act quickly, before the sun comes up for sure.”

“We should wake Neville.” Pansy’s forehead creased in worry.

“Longbottom isn’t rested enough—”

“It won’t matter if he’s dead,” Pansy interrupted. “Which is certain to happen if we don’t incapacitate the Death Eaters.”

“Between the two of us—”

“We’ll fail.”

Draco glared. “Stop interrupting.”

“Stop talking stupidly,” Pansy countered. “These are _Death Eaters_ , not children playing nasty pranks. We’re not a couple of Gilderoy Lockharts with the training or experience to deal with them alone.”

“From the way you’re sounding, I should just bind Potter and give him over, since anything else is futile,” Draco said, rising.

“Of course not. Stop being a Hufflepuff and use your head. I know you’re afraid, Draco, but you need to _think_.”

Draco’s jaw tensed, and he said harshly, “I nearly lost him once already today. It’s not going to happen again.”

Pansy looked briefly surprised before her features softened. “That’s why we need to be rational.”

“I’m always rational,” Draco muttered.

“Except when it comes to Potter,” Pansy said.

Draco closed his eyes. He could see too easily a Dark Mark rising above the trees. “What do you suggest?”

“That we wake everyone and inform them of the situation. They’ll never believe we aren’t in league with them otherwise,” Pansy said.

“And we want to keep it that way.”

“Not in this situation,” Pansy argued. “There are no Professors, or parents, or Ministry Aurors around to take care of them. It’s just us.”

Draco looked off in the direction of the Death Eaters camp in silent contemplation. “We may have to enact the contingency plan when we return to school,” he said. “Are you prepared to do that?”

Pansy smiled, though there was no humour in it. “I don’t particularly care for my parents anyway.”

Draco gave her a resolute look. “Nor I, mine.”

Pansy nodded once, decisively. “Right, then.” She opened the door and went inside.

Draco followed her into the shack and immediately spotted Harry sitting at the table, with Dog sprawled sleeping at his feet. The lantern on the table cast a low light in the room. The others were sleeping in their clothes on transfigured beds, making the shack seem extremely cramped.

Harry looked up at their entrance and met Draco’s gaze. His eyes drifted lower, colour rising visibly in his cheeks even in the dim. Draco’s face heated instantly and he yanked closed his shirt. He turned his back and buttoned up quickly.

“Potter, we have a problem,” Pansy stated, not beating around the bush. She wasn’t quiet, either, waking the others. “There are four Death Eaters camped nearby.”

“Death Eaters?” Hermione sounded instantly alert, sitting up abruptly, as did Ron and Neville. Her hair stuck out like a bristle brush.

Draco leaned back against the closed door, his shoulders tense despite his deceptively casual posture. He kept one ear cocked for the Death Eaters. The flush of remembered embarrassment faded rapidly in the face of fear. He caught Neville’s eye and nodded subtly at the unasked query of truth.

“You’re sure?” Harry said, fingers pressing hard against the tabletop.

“Draco,” Pansy prompted.

“I saw the dark mark on one of their arms,” Draco said.

“Probably after you showed them yours,” Ron said.

“You said there are four of them?” Hermione rose, tugged at her skirt and blouse, and walked over to the table, where a pile of items they’d planned to ‘borrow’ from the shack sat.

“So Draco said,” Pansy replied.

“What are we going to do?” Neville said.

“They’re here for Potter,” Draco said. His stomach churned at the thought.

“So we should just give Harry to them?” Ron said with a glare at Draco.

“So _Harry_ —” The name felt odd on Draco’s tongue, even sneered. “—should stay here while the rest of us deal with them.”

Harry was already shaking his head negatively and Draco got angry. “Don’t be more stupid than usual, Potter,” he said. “Or I might as well save the Death Eaters the trouble and kill you myself.”

“What are we going to do with the Death Eaters?” Neville asked again loudly.

“We need to make a plan.” Hermione unrolled a map of the area they’d found and smoothed it on the tabletop. “Malfoy, how far away are they?”

“About a kilometre northwest,” Draco answered shortly.

“Are there any wards?”

“I didn’t ask,” he drawled, giving her a look at the stupidity of the question.

Hermione stared back, unaffected. “How did you find them?”

“By accident.”

“In a forest this size, you’re saying you accidentally ran into four people who pose a threat specifically to us?”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

Hermione’s tone was one of innocent inquiry, despite her scepticism. “What were you doing in the forest?”

“None of your business.”

“Everything’s our business when our lives are in danger.”

“Learn to deal with the disappointment.”

“I insist on knowing—”

Harry interrupted her. “Hermione, it’s not important at the moment. The Death Eaters are our priority.”

“You trust that he isn’t in league with him?”

Draco exchanged a pointed look with Pansy. She shrugged ‘what can you do?’

“He’s one of the biggest prats I know,” Harry said, causing Draco’s gaze to snap to him at the wording. Harry didn’t glance at him, however, and his continuation didn’t indicate if it was a coincidence. “But why would he warn us if he was with them?”

“We are conveniently trapped,” Neville spoke up, augmenting Harry’s line of reasoning. “It’d be right simple to lead the Death Eaters to the door and that hasn’t happened.”

“It doesn’t matter what he’s done or not done.” Ron continued to give Draco a hostile look. “All Malfoys are Death Eaters.”

“There isn’t time for this childish prattle!” Pansy snapped suddenly. “There are four _real_ Death Eaters camped practically on the doorstep and undoubtedly have orders to kill Potter and anyone with him, including Draco and me. I, for one, do not wish to die tonight, so may we please _move on!_ ”

Draco’s mouth curved in a smile, despite the situation. Pansy Parkinson was a force to be reckoned with, and Draco was glad she was his friend.

Hermione and Ron looked surprised, Harry appeared thoughtful, and Neville was smitten with Pansy’s outburst.

Hermione was first to speak. “We have two choices. The first is, we leave the Death Eaters alone and hope they don’t find us.”

“You left a glowing trail for them, Hermione,” Harry pointed out, not unkindly.

Hermione’s cheeks pinked. “Or secondly,” she continued. “We incapacitate them.”

“If we use the _syrtis_ spell together, warding wouldn’t matter,” Pansy said calmly, as if she hadn’t just blown her top.

“But that would kill them,” Hermione said.

“Better them than us.”

“No,” Harry said firmly.

“It would be the safest thing to do,” Draco said, shoving his unslicked hair out of his face.

Harry stared unbendingly at him. “ _No_. I’ve seen enough people die.”

Draco crossed his arms over his chest. “What’s your idea then?”

“We can’t do anything unless we get through their wards, if they have them,” Neville said.

”Malfoy,” Hermione said, “did you know any of the Death Eaters?”

Draco’s expression darkened. “If you imply once more that I am somehow connected to them—”

“We know for a fact that your father is a Death Eater, whether you are or not,” Hermione spoke over him. “Have you or have you not seen these four camped in the woods in your father’s company or at any other time?”

“No.”

“All right, then,” Hermione said. “Would they recognize you?”

“How do you mean?” Draco said suspiciously.

Harry spoke up. “You look a lot like your father, except you have your mum’s eyes and mouth.”

“Potter’s right, Draco does resemble Mr. Malfoy.” Pansy smirked slyly at Draco. “Though I never noticed he had his mother’s mouth.”

Slightly flustered, Draco cleared his throat and answered Hermione’s question. “I suppose they might recognize me as a Malfoy.”

“Then we can use you to remove the wards,” Hermione said.

“After that, how do we keep them from coming after us?” Ron asked. “ _Stupefy_ them?”

“That wears off in a few hours,” Neville said.

“There’s a bottle of sleeping draught on that shelf—,” Draco indicated with his chin, “—that’ll knock four humans out for at least a week.”

“So the plan should be that Draco approaches the Death Eaters and gets them to lower their wards, then we paralyse them by surprise and force the draught down their throats,” Pansy said.

“Longbottom, you stay here with Potter,” Draco said. “Granger, Weasley, Pansy and I will take care of this.”

“I’m not staying here,” Harry said.

“Don’t be a twat, Potter,” Draco said. “It’s you they want primarily. Staying here, if things go pear-shaped, gives you and Longbottom the chance to escape.”

“We’re not confronting them directly, except for you,” Harry said. “I think I can avoid capture hiding in the woods with everyone else.”

“You don’t have a brain cell in your head, do you?” Draco said exasperatedly. “It’s no wonder you get yourself nearly killed every year.”

Harry scowled. Hermione interrupted any further argument. “Harry and Neville will be in the woods with us,” she said. She pulled out her wand and pointed at the map. “ _Imaginis_. According to Malfoy, the Death Eaters are about here.” From her spell, a tiny, ghostly image of a campfire with four hooded figures around it appeared on the table, over the map.

Neville, Ron, and Pansy moved around the table with Harry and Hermione. Draco stayed leaning against the door. “They have a tent,” Draco told her.

“Come over here and show us,” Hermione said.

Draco pushed off the door and joined them around the table. He found the shack drawn in ink on the map and pointed to where the tent had been in correlation to where he’d been hiding in the bushes. “There.”

Ghostly trees and a tent sprang up around the Death Eaters. Hermione flicked her wand, creating five miniature figures resembling Harry, Ron, Neville, Pansy, and herself. She looked at Ron. “Ron?”

Ron studied the three-dimensional figures standing on the map. “We should position ourselves here and here, in correlation to the tent,” he said, pointing. The Hermione, Harry, and Ron figures walked to stand behind the trees on one side of the camp circle and Pansy and Neville moved at a right angle position from them. “That way, we don’t accidentally curse each other by crossfire.”

“What if we hit Malfoy?” Neville asked.

“We laugh and leave him to rot,” Ron suggested.

“We uncurse him afterwards,” Pansy stated with a glare at Ron.

“We’ll try not to hit him,” Hermione said. A miniature ghostly Draco appeared on the map, opposite the Neville and Pansy figures, and made a rude gesture.

“So the plan is: we’ll use the _stupefy_ spell simultaneously at Malfoy’s signal.” Ron pointed to a Death Eater on the map. “Neville, you and Pansy aim for the Death Eater closest to Malfoy’s right, as that person might be out of our range. Harry, Hermione and I will take care of the other three.”

“What if there are more Death Eaters?” Neville said.

“We’ll improvise,” Harry said. The ghostly Harry on the table blew up the tent with his miniature wand.

“I’ll rub my nose as the signal,” Draco said. “Try not to bollocks this up.”

“Same with you.” Hermione’s eyes narrowed threateningly. “Or it won’t be an accident if you are cursed.”

Draco Malfoy was a manor born and bred pureblooded wizard and acting the part of a peacock came as natural to him as breathing.

(“You _are_ a peacock, Draco,” Pansy said. “Stop preening and let’s go.”)

Wearing his cleaned school robe over his neatened Muggle uniform and with his hair spell-gelled back, Draco strode partially into the Death Eaters’ campsite circle, stopped where Hermione had said the shielding wards stood, and began whinging like a spoiled brat.

“There you are! I’ve been looking for you for _ever_. Get me out of here.”

The four robed Death Eaters jumped up in surprise, wands drawn and pointed at Draco in a moment. They had not been sleeping, but rather lolling quietly in their chairs around the campfire. Neville had used a sniffer spell to follow the marked trail Draco had made, and the other five students were hidden in position beyond the nearest trees. Dog had been locked in the shack, in order for the stealth-relying plan to work.

Draco had decided that, since these Death Eaters didn’t run in the same social circle as the Malfoys, or else he’d know them, it would be better to act like an irritating fop. The Malfoy name was linked with power, riches, and calculating snobbery, but being commanding in this situation wouldn’t be prudent. These Death Eaters were more likely to fall under his control if they thought that _they_ had the power over someone of a higher class, rather than being ordered around by an almost eighteen-year-old.

“Lucius?” Hopkins said. “Lucius Malfoy, is that you?”

Draco was taken aback. They did know his father.

“I don’t believe it,” Hopkins said with a chuckle, lowering his wand. “Lucius Malfoy. How did you get stuck in here?”

Wiltshire and Charlton lowered their wands. Roderick continued to appear suspicious, though name recognition was obvious in his eyes.

Wiltshire squinted at Draco. “Did you take a de-aging potion?”

Draco faltered. He couldn’t pretend to be his father because he knew nothing about these people and he needed them to take down the wards Hermione had detected. “I- I’m not Lucius, I’m Draco. Draco Malfoy, Lucius’s son.”

“His _son_?” Wiltshire goggled. “Lucius doesn’t have a son.”

Draco tilted his chin in offence. “He does, too, and that’s me.”

“How old are you?” Hopkins asked.

“Nearly eighteen.”

“Eighteen, do you believe it?” Charlton said. “We’ve been in here longer than eighteen years.”

“How did you find us?” Roderick said, sounding suspicious still.

“You’re not well hidden,” Draco drawled, falling back into his story. He could still work the plan. “Besides, I knew you had to be here. I assume the book is for Potter and simply entrapping him wouldn’t be enough. He manages to wiggle out of trouble too easily. Not even _I_ can crush him.”

Charlton, Wiltshire, and Hopkins exchanged confused looks. “Who’s Potter?” Hopkins said. “Last I knew this book belonged to Archibald Dewey.”

“Who’s Potter?” Draco was stunned. _Everyone_ knew who Harry Potter was, which was why he was such a right pain in the arse. “Harry Potter? The Boy Who Lived? Has a scar on his head from defeating You-Know-Who?”

“Did you say he _defeated_ the Dark Lord?” Wiltshire said.

“Ah…” Draco floundered. He really needed to start thinking before he spoke. “It was only the once. But he came back!”

“The Dark Lord came back,” Hopkins said slowly.

“Yes! That’s why I thought the book was for Potter, as part of the Dark Lord’s plan for him.” Of course, Draco had been _wrong_. “But the Dark Lord’s alive and, um, kicking. He’s ridding the world of Muggle and Mudblood filth as we speak.”

Hopkins, Charlton, and Wiltshire exchanged looks again, which was starting to get creepy. Roderick took a step towards Draco. Draco took a step back in self-preservation, even though the wards still stood between them. Why had he listened to Granger’s plan?

“So, how’d you wind up in the book?” Wiltshire said.

“Bleckly,” Draco said, sticking to the lie he’d created and hoped it didn’t bite him in the arse. “He was touting his importance and opened the book, getting us caught in here.”

“Where is this Mr. Bleckly?” Roderick said, taking another step.

Draco back-stepped again. “At the shack we found not too far away.”

“Show us,” Roderick prompted, and Draco felt the oily slide of evil in his voice. If Bleckly were really here and if Draco was actually not playing a part, they might both be dead before the sun rose - and maybe not until after a bit of sport.

“Oh, yes, of course.” Draco fluttered his hands, not entirely suavely. “Follow me.”

“Charlton, the wards,” Roderick said.

Charlton nodded and raised his wand. Finally. Draco palmed the wand in his sleeve. “ _Finite contectum. Finite deprendimpetus._ ”

Roderick moved towards Draco immediately after the faint flare of the wards disassembling faded between them. Draco knew Roderick’s intention wasn’t to give him a hug. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

“ _STUPEFY!_ ” Five shouts echoed in the night, one layered on top of the other, and beams of red spell-light shot from the trees. The Death Eaters hadn’t a chance. They spun towards the woods and were felled before they could further react.

Draco stepped forward quickly, shaking hands checking the four to make certain they were unconscious. “All right.”

The other students emerged from the woods. Harry made a beeline for the tent and checked inside without hesitation, or common sense. Neville caught Draco eye, lifted his wand, and circled it once. Draco nodded imperceptibly and joined Pansy in making a perimeter around the campsite, facing the trees in case there were more Death Eaters out there. Hermione and Ron moved directly to the downed Death Eaters with the sleeping potion in hand.

“I can’t believe it actually worked without problems,” Ron commented. “That never happens.”

Without problems? Draco begged to differ and as soon as his nerves calmed, he’d tell Ron off.

“It was a surprise attack with an elementary spell,” Hermione said. Harry wandered over to them, the tent apparently clear. “If it didn’t work, we shouldn’t be Seventh Years. Malfoy had the difficult task. Harry, tilt his head.”

“Do you reckon that these fellows are the only Death Eaters in the book?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know,” Hermione sounded concerned. “We should remain extra careful, in case they weren’t.”

“Too bad they’ve all been given the potion, so we can’t wake them up and ask,” Ron said.

“Unless you Gryffindors have a hidden nasty streak – which I might be impressed by-,” Pansy said, “-I doubt you’d get any further information from them without torture.”

“Or veritaserum,” Neville added.

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. Let’s return to the shack,” Hermione said. “ _Mobilicorpus._ ”

Ron, Harry, and Neville each cast the same spell on the other Death Eaters. Pansy doused the campfire, making the night seem extra dark suddenly. Draco took the lead, erasing the pale blue spell light slashes on the trees they’d made on the way to the campsite, to mark their path. Hermione didn’t want to leave a trail again, with the glowing footprints. Pansy covered the rear, her wand lit with an extra bright _lumos_ spell to light their way.

Once at the shack, it was decided to leave the Death Eaters tied up on the porch and ward themselves inside. Pansy also took their wands.

“I’ll stand watch out here,” Draco said. Neville hovered in the open doorway, lantern light spilling out from behind him. Ron and Harry stood on the porch beside the aligned unconscious Death Eaters.

“No way, Malfoy,” Ron said. “I don’t trust you out here with the Death Eaters.”

“Bloody hell!” Draco lost his temper completely. “I am not a Death Eater, I am not going to _be_ a Death Eater, and if you keep rabbiting on about it, I’m going to show you that the Death Eaters have _nothing_ on me.”

Ron was too obstinate to be fazed. Hermione climbed the steps and grabbed his arm. “Let’s not argue about this again. If Malfoy wants to stay outside, fine. We can ward him out just as easily as the Death Eaters.”

She ushered Ron and Neville inside, even as Ron protested. “But what if…”

Harry looked at Draco a moment, his expression pensive, before he nodded once and went inside.

“Potter becomes stranger every day,” Pansy said, from beside Draco. She glanced at him. “Do you want me to sit out here with you after that rousing little speech?”

Draco shook his head, teeth grinding. “No. At least one of us should get some sleep, and you already know it wouldn’t be me.”

“All right,” she said. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.” She lightly touched his elbow, then climbed the steps and went inside, shutting the door behind her.

Draco released a slow breath of tension, scowled at the unconscious four on the porch, and cast an extra _stupefy_ spell on them. Then, taking Pansy’s chair, he sat down with his wand in hand, and kept watch over the dark forest, the Death Eaters, and his classmates until dawn.

Neville emerged from the shack at dawn’s first light. He nodded blearily at Draco, glanced at the four Death Eaters, and headed down the steps and around the side of the shack.

Draco rose, pocketed his wand, and headed inside the shack. The light crept in through the parted curtains of the window. He stepped quietly around the others, spread out on transfigured beds in the small room. The map of the area was spread across the surface of the table along with the other scavenged items they were taking with them, including bottles of labelled potions as well as a hunk of chocolate.

Draco uncorked and drank an entire measure of vigilanter potion and felt the familiar zing coarse through his veins. A murmured concealing spell hid the dark circles under his eyes from not sleeping, although the tired lines creasing his brow were not so easily erased.

Breaking off a piece of chocolate, Draco nibbled at the restorative sweet as he studied the map, glancing at the door every few moments. A strand of white-blonde hair had escaped the spell-gel and hung over his eyes as he bent closer to read the printing. The map was hand-drawn and non-magical, most likely by the deceased hunter since the shack was indicated on the map as ‘home.’ North was marked, and Draco was able to estimate the direction they’d come from through the woods since being caught in the book.

The unnamed forest, indicated by triangular trees, made up a majority of the map. Bordering the woods to the north and west were fields. In both directions, there were villages marked on the map. Further west at the edge of the map was a canyon and to the north were mountains. There was also no indication what lay to the north, east, and south of the areas mapped.

They were closer to the village in the west, so that’s where they should set off to after breakfast. Speaking to other people – that is, if there were other people in the village – might speed their quest to find a way out of the book. Other wizards and witches caught inside Tome of Entrapment had to have attempted an escape, and the group could learn what not to bother trying. If there were any ‘natives’ to the world within the book, they might be informative, as well.

Draco felt eyes on him as he attempted to calculate distances, stiffened, and looked over his shoulder. Harry Potter was awake and watching him, propped on an elbow with his glasses in place. He looked quickly away, when Draco caught him.

Draco glanced past him at the door again. Apprehension wrinkled a line between his brows.

Movement drew his gaze to Harry again. Harry had gotten up and was stretching his arms towards the ceiling. His unbuttoned shirt gaped. He lowered his arms, scratched his navel with one hand and covered a yawn with the other. His fake indifference was marred by the flush highlighting his cheeks.

Quickly, Draco turned back to the map.

“Hey, Dog, you hungry?” Harry asked the bloodhound sprawled out on the floor near the sink. He crossed to the small kitchen and began rattling around in the icebox.

The others woke up as Harry started breakfast. The lanterns were lit and the beds transfigured into chairs. They took turns going outside. Draco went out again, too, for a morning respite and to check around. He cast _petrificus_ on the four unconscious Death Eaters just to be on the safe side.

Inside, the morning took on a decidedly normal feel, despite the six not usually being together outside of classes. Clothing was spell-cleaned and pressed. Hermione lectured on the psychological comforts of wearing their own clothes rather than transfiguring new ones. Pansy conjured a mirror and groomed. Ron joked with Harry and eyed Draco warily from time to time. Neville moved the chairs around the table.     

“You missed the discussion last night, but we’re heading for Piègens after breakfast,” Hermione informed Draco, as she cleaned off the table. She pointed to the village in the west on the map before rolling it up. “I estimate we can reach the town by nightfall.”

“Food’s up,” Harry announced by the wood stove.

“Aren’t you too short for a house elf?” Neville joked as Harry heaped eggs, sausage, ham, and toast on several plates. A cupboard above the sink was open, revealing more dishes and drink glasses.

Harry grinned lopsidedly. “Ha-ha. Not all of us can be part-giant.”

“I think you’re the perfect size, Harry.” Ron took an empty plate and balanced in on Harry’s head. “For a tray table.”

“I dare you to try that on Hermione,” Harry said.

“Are you kidding?” Ron shuddered. “I’d rather face You-Know-Who than an angry Hermione.”

Hermione levelled him with a look. “Good answer, Ron.”

“Will someone pour the pumpkin juice?” Harry passed Ron another plateful of food. Ron held several plates at once with ease.

“I will,” Neville volunteered.

Draco took a seat beside Pansy. He looked over his shoulder at the closed door.

“Oi, careful Neville.” Ron danced around Neville, who’d stepped in his path, still balancing the plates. “I don’t want to dump this food on your head. Even the crappiest meals beat going hungry.”

“Ron,” Harry began amusedly, “I think you just insulted me.”

Ron made an apologetic face. “Uh, sorry, Harry. I’m sure the food is great.”

“Why don’t you let us taste it and we’ll find out if it’s any good,” Pansy suggested dryly from her spot at the table.

“Did someone set out the silverware?” Neville said, lifting a bucket from on top of the icebox and taking a fork out.

“I’ve done it, Neville,” Hermione said, taking the chair two seats over from Pansy.

Ron brought five full plates to the table as Harry dished the last of the food for himself. Neville retrieved the pumpkin juice from the icebox and six glasses. Draco would’ve wondered why a hunter in a shack in the middle of nowhere would have so many place settings, but he really didn’t care.

At the table, Neville poured juice for everyone, sitting down between Pansy and Hermione after he finished. Ron had taken the chair on the other side of Hermione, leaving Harry to sit in the open spot between him and Draco.

The table was small, the chairs were very close together, and Harry seemed to be practically sitting in Draco’s lap. Harry’s expression wasn’t one of pleasure at being in such close contact with Draco. Draco nudged his chair closer to Pansy, creating space out of non-existence with a sneer at Harry, before glancing over his shoulder at the door again.

Dog poked his nose between Harry and Draco, tongue lolling, before he moved to stick his head between Neville and Pansy. Conversation was overlapping and relatively friendly as they ate. It was like a scene from one of Draco’s nightmares.

“Harry, this is really good.”

“Are you going to eat that, Hermione?”

“Is there any more pumpkin juice?”

“Do you think we should take Dog with us when we go?”

“Who’s cleaning the dishes when we’re done?”

“Dog, naff off.”

“I don’t see why not.”

“We should raid the food stock before heading out.”  


“Don’t look at me. I cooked.”

“Here, Ron, you can have it.”

“I suggest we also check for a cache of money. If we’re going to a town, we might need it.”

“I’ll do them, if someone helps.”

“Drat, I got egg on my sleeve.”

“This is really, really good, Harry.”

Draco started suddenly. “Potter…?”

Harry moved his hand off Draco’s thigh and mumbled embarrassingly, “Thought you were the dog.”

Draco returned to his food, unable to ignore the tingle of his leg. Dog poked his head between him and Harry again before disappearing under the cramped table.

“Pass the pumpkin juice, please.”

“Use a napkin, not your sleeve!”

“Ow. That was my foot.”

“Stop slobbering on me.”

“Do we get chocolate for dessert?”

“Potter.”

“Oi, I’m stuffed.”

“Yeah, Malfoy?”

“I saw that, Neville.”

“We’ll take several of the potions, too. I saw an anti-venom serum, so we’ll have to be on the lookout for snakes and other poisonous creatures.”

“That’s not the dog, either.”

“Hey, Harry, did I mention this was really good food?”


	8. Piègens

_Then_

 

Pansy looked up from her copy of _Witch Weekly_ at the fourteen-year-old who’d burst into the Fourth Year girls’ dorm room. “Draco, you’re not allowed in here.”

Draco ignored her admonishment, leaned against the closed door, and said in a panicky voice, “You have to help me.”

Pansy set aside her magazine, uncrossed her legs, and straightened her robes. Her bare feet peeked out from beneath the hem. She was the only one currently in the dorm room, seated regally on her bed. Silver cord tied back the green privacy curtains around each of the tall bedposts. “What’s wrong?”

“Bulstrode is trying to kill me!”

“Why does Millie want to kill you?”

“I might have accidentally called her a bull-nosed, hack-faced cow.” Draco tried to look contrite and failed miserably.

“‘Accidentally.’”

“She ate my last chocolate biscuit from home.” He pushed off the door and wandered around the dormitory. He poked through the other girls’ things on the bedside tables.

“Draco, you really need to watch your tongue before it gets cut off,” Pansy said, picking up her magazine and moving it to the bedside table.

Draco shrugged. He picked up a silver ring, slid it on his finger, and held up his hand. The square-cut red stone was a fake jewel; he could see his reflection in its surface. “Pansy, has anyone asked you to the Yule Ball yet?”

“No,” Pansy said, “but the announcement was only made this morning. I expect I’ll be asked after dinner.”

”How about if I ask you now?”

“Come again?”

Draco removed the ring and tossed it on the bedside table. He glanced over his shoulder. “Will you go with me to the Yule Ball?”

“Me?” Pansy eyed him warily. “You don’t… fancy me, do you?”

He made a face. “Mordred, no.”

Pansy folded her arms, her stare becoming icy. “Exactly why is that such a horrifying thought?”

“Fancying you would be like fancying my mum,” Draco said with a shudder.

“Then, why are you asking me to the ball?” Pansy said. “I know Tracey Davis and Charmaine Cornerstone would both say yes to you.”

“I don’t want to go with them.” Draco turned back to the bedside table. A _Wizard Style_ magazine caught his eye and he thumbed through it. It was an issue he already had read, but Yule was nearing and he could use new casual robes.

“There must be someone beside me you can ask,” she said.

“Are you telling me no?” he said, his fingers crumpling the edge of a page.

Pansy made a frustrated sound. “Why do you want to go with me?”

“You’re my friend.”

“Draco.” Her voice carried a warning.

Draco smoothed the crumpled edge. The young dark-haired model in the picture smiled at him. “I can’t ask who I want to go with.”

“Why not?”

He licked his lips, his mouth dry. He suddenly felt as though he’d fallen off his broom. “I- he wouldn’t accept if I asked.”

“He?”

Draco winced, his shoulders tensing. He’d never admitted it out loud, because once he’d said it, it would become truth. “I- I’m- I-”

“Draco, look at me.”

Draco clenched his jaw and faced her with a dark stare, promising vile retribution if she said something cruel. “Go on, then, tell me how sickened you are that I’m gay, so I can hex you to look like Granger.”

But Pansy met his gaze steadily. “I’ll forgive you this time because Millie ate your last biscuit, but don’t use that tone with me again.”

Draco’s chin tilted higher. “I will if I want to.”

“Your maturity astounds me sometimes.” Pansy shook her head in vexation. “Draco, it’s all right. It’s actually not that surprising.”

“Oh.” Draco’s shoulders slumped and he dropped his chin, though he didn’t apologize. “You’re not disgusted, then?”

“Only over the fact that you think I’d be disgusted.”

“Really?” Draco looked at her from beneath his lashes. She glared in return.

A corner of his mouth turned up, and he crossed the room and flopped uncouthly onto her bed. He lay on his back, his feet still on the floor, and stared at the green canopy overhead. “Does this mean you’ll go with me, then?”

“Why don’t you ask this boy you like?” Pansy nudged him with her foot. “Who is it, anyway?”

“Victor Krum, and I told you, he’d never accept,” Draco said. “Besides, I’ve got Potter duty, seeing as the ball is on Christmas and that’s my assigned holiday. I don’t have to make excuses if I’m there with you.”

“You like Victor Krum?” Pansy wrinkled her pug nose. “He looks like a vulture.”

“He’s famous, and have you seen him ride a broom?”

“Depends on what sort of broom you mean.”

“Pansy!”

Pansy tittered. “It must be _hard_ for you to play Quidditch, with all those _broomsticks_ and _balls_ flying at you.”

Draco rolled onto his side, cheeks reddened, grabbed her foot, and tickled the sole. “Tease me, will you?”

Pansy laughed loud and clear, kicking against him. He released her briefly, only long enough to shoot up and loom over her, and attack her sides. “Draco!” she exclaimed in between laughs.

Pansy wasn’t completely defenceless, however. She hooked her leg and arm around him and rolled suddenly. She was larger than him – something he hated – and she easily flipped their positions. She rose up, straddling his legs, her hair in disarray and breathing heavily. A pink flush of laughter coloured her face, and she cracked her knuckles.

“Pansy, pet—,” Draco began, not above begging when he saw her evil smile. He didn’t see the door opening. “You are the most beautiful girl in the world. I worship the ground you walk on. But please don’t—”

“Pansy— _Malfoy_!” Millicent Bulstrode stood in the open doorway, gaping at them.

Draco looked at Millie, looked at the way he and Pansy were situated, and scrambled to sit up. “Bulstrode, this isn’t what you’re thinking.”

“Oh my, wait ‘til I tell the others,” Millie said, leaving with a lumbering bounce.

“Bulstrode!” Draco called, but she had already gone. He fell back on the bed with an unhappy exhalation. “Brilliant. Just brilliant.”

“What are you moaning about?” Pansy poked him in the ribs. “You don’t care what the others say, but now no one is going to ask me to the ball because they think we’re together.”

A slow smile crossed Draco’s lips. “I guess you’ll have to go with me, then.”

Pansy scowled and poked him again, hard.

“Ow!” Draco rubbed his side and pouted at her. “Come on. It’ll be fun.”

She climbed off his lap, onto the bed beside him.   “What if I wanted to go with someone else?”

“Who would ask you?” Draco covered his head and cringed, Pansy’s wand suddenly millimetres from his nose. “Well, it’s not like droves are charming open your door.”

The next thing Draco knew, he was large, yellow, and moulting on Pansy’s bed. He glared at her with his beady red eyes. She smiled wickedly. “Canary transfiguration hex. The Twins are using it with their Canary Creams. I think it works marvellously.”

Draco opened his mouth to retort, but all that came out was: “Cheep! Cheep cheep!”

Pansy tumbled back on the bed, laughing like a nutter. Draco continued moulting until all the yellow feathers had fallen off, leaving him human again. He scratched his neck and glared spitefully at her. “My uniform is stretched out of shape, now.”

“Oh, don’t get your feathers ruffled,” Pansy said and fell into a fit of giggles again.

Draco scowled, stood, and went over to a mirror to assess the damage. Bits of feathers stuck to his hair and his robe. He drew his wand, cast a cleaning spell on himself, and fixed his hair. “Are you going to the Yule Ball with me or not?”

“Fine. Yes, I’ll go.” Pansy leaned against the headboard and straightened her robes. “If only to keep you out of trouble.”

“I told you I have Potter duty.”

Pansy looked pointedly at his reflection in the mirror. “Since when has that stopped you?”

“I have to entertain myself somehow.” Draco turned and leaned against the dressing table. “I had thought the Death Eaters would keep me busy this year.”

“With what, running away?” Pansy smiled sweetly at his glower. “You’re right, though, it has been horribly uneventful. I only joined your PRATS group to look after you while you look after Potter, but now I’m questioning why I bothered.”

“I know. I would’ve quit at the beginning of term if it hadn’t been for the Death Eaters at the World Cup,” Draco said. Even the memory of that night made his chest seize. “I can’t chance it now, though. What if they come when I’m not looking and kill Potter?”

She gave him a sly look. “I wonder: is it really Krum or Quidditch seekers that you fancy?”

Draco gasped. “Take that back.”

“Do you dream about Potter, Draco?” Pansy teased. “Do you find those glasses and always rumpled hair sexy?”

Draco sputtered. “I most certainly do not! I hate him.”

“I can see how much you hate him by all your trailing after and protecting him.”

“Hating him and not wanting him dead are two different things.”

“I know.” Pansy rose from the bed and walked over to her wardrobe. “So, the Yule Ball. Whatever shall we wear?”

 

 

_Now_

 

The morning sun beamed past the foliage of the towering trees. The weather was warm already, despite the early hour. The fresh, clean air carried the scents of flowers and trees, making it a beautiful morning for a hike through the woods. They’d left after breakfast for Piègens, along with spell-shrunk food, dishes, potions, parchment, quills and ink, and the map packed in the backpack. They’d also taken what coins they could find. The unconscious Death Eaters had been left tied up and moved into the shack. Pansy had told Draco that she’d also broken their wands and scattered the pieces in the woods.

Draco could feel Ron’s eyes boring into the back of his head and his hand brushed his wand handle often. He walked alone in the middle of the group, with Pansy, Neville, and Ron behind him and Harry and Hermione in the lead. Lack of sleep and paranoia over the Death Eaters, both the four they’d left behind and the possibilities of others, had Draco on edge. Harry also kept glancing over his shoulder, eyeing Draco oddly and making him uncomfortable, until he snapped finally.

“Stop ogling me, you poof.”

Harry started, as if surprised, and faced quickly forward again. He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, shifted the backpack higher on his shoulder, and didn’t turn again.

Hermione used a _point me_ spell to keep their course true. They emerged from the woods late morning into a field of wheat that stretched before them as far as the eye could see. The overhead sun was harsh without the leafy canopy blocking the intense rays. Sweat beaded on Draco’s forehead and dripped irritatingly down his face and his clothes stuck wetly to his back, as the woods disappeared in the distance behind him.

“ _Contegere sol_ ,” Pansy cast a sunblock charm on everyone. Hermione twined her hair in a braid, earning a double look. She was pretty with her bushy hair pulled back from her face. Draco’s own hair had fallen limply, the spell-gel dissolving with his perspiration.

“I wonder if there’s a specific design to all this.” One wheat field blended into another, height variances and small stakes the only markers. Draco listened to Hermione and Harry as they continued walking. It was either that or listening to Neville and Pansy coo at each other and Ron wasn’t worthy of any attention. “We are in a book, not a box or a container. Maybe we’re taking part in a story.”

“You don’t think we’re in another real place, like France?” Harry said.

“I’ve been to France. I would’ve recognized the hunter’s map.” Hermione glanced at Dog, who streaked past her, barking up a storm. A flock of black birds took startled flight from the knee-high wheat a short distance away. Dog jumped in the air, snapping but not catching any of them.

“I suppose if we were transported somewhere real, we’d be able to Apparate.” Harry looked around. “It’s hard to believe this is all part of a book.”

“I wish Valise had given more detail about the Tome of Entrapment,” Hermione said. “The first thing we’ll do when we reach Piègens is find a library or a book seller.”

“Do you really think a book within a book is going to tell us how to escape the book?” Harry paused. “That’s a lot of books.”

“The answers to everything can be found in a book, if you look hard enough.”

Harry glanced over his shoulder at Draco again, much to Draco’s annoyance. “Not everything.”

It was early evening when they came over a rise and saw Piègens spread before them in a valley. Wizard-erected homes and shops, evidenced by their offbeat structure, lined the narrow, dusty streets. Many of the homes had penned animals and fenced food gardens. Shops and pubs were visible by their signs posted above the doorways, along with a local government building and a jail.

Hermione lowered the omnioculors they’d permanently borrowed from the deceased hunter. “There are people about, wearing wizarding robes.”

“So, we’re looking for the library or a bookshop?” Harry said, holding onto Dog’s collar so he wouldn’t roam ahead.

“Yes,” Hermione said. “Other victims of the Tome of Entrapment had to have gone through the town before and kept records of such activity. Perhaps they wrote a travelogue or memoirs.”  


“We could ask around, too,” Harry said.

“While we’re at it, let’s announce where we are to any other Death Eaters in the book,” Draco said sarcastically. “I’m sure they’ll appreciate the helpfulness.”

“We’ll be cautious,” Hermione said. “There isn’t much else we can do. Wandering around hoping we find the end isn’t going to work. Tomorrow’s Monday already and we’re going to miss lessons, if we don’t learn how to escape.”

Harry and Ron exchanged looks. “We’ve done all right wandering so far,” Harry said.

“Yeah, we should keep it up for a week or two,” Ron said. “At least until after McGonagall’s exam.”

“She might pass us if we miss it, due to extenuating circumstances and all,” Harry added.

Hermione frowned sternly. “We’ve missed whole days of studying for N.E.W.T.s already and you two need every second you can find.”

She pinned Neville with a look suddenly. “You, too, Neville. I’m sure you’re as distressed as I am about lost revision time.”

“Me?” Neville looked at Ron and Harry and then nodded emphatically. “Oh, yes, yes. I feel very bad.”

Pansy’s expression clearly indicated annoyance. “Shall we stop dithering and go already?”

Neville offered his arm to Pansy. “My lady, may I escort you?”

Pansy looked startled briefly before her features smoothed and she curtseyed slightly. “You may,” she said formally, hooking her fingers under his elbow. Her cheeks held a soft glow in the waning light, as they headed down the hill.

Draco smiled genuinely at his two friends’ backs, with a bittersweet pang in his heart.

“Go on, Malfoy,” Ron said.

Draco’s smile vanished instantly and he bestowed a hateful glare on Ron, but not before he saw Harry watching him with the oddest expression, almost surprise. Draco ignored one daft pillock to address the other. “What’s wrong, Weasley? Afraid to go first?”

“I’m not afraid,” Ron said defensively. “Besides, Neville and Pansy went first.”

“That’s because they know they won’t be turned away for looking like street rubbish.” Draco started down the hill, finishing over his shoulder. “If you’re lucky, perhaps the townsfolk might put you up in one of their animal pens.”

The six received barely passing glances as they made their way through Piègens towards the centre of the town, searching for a library or bookshop. Draco wondered if the townspeople were very used to strangers appearing and thought nothing of it. Or perhaps the town was made up of people who’d been trapped in the book and the appearance of more victims was commonplace. Either way, it didn’t bode well for their chances of escape.

Clapboard and stone houses lined the narrow, dirt streets in neat rows. Private homes gave way to shops and businesses. Clean windows sparkled in the slowly setting sun, displaying shop wares. Doors were propped open invitingly, voices and smells drifting outdoors. Signs jutted from the outer wall above doorways: Abel’s Apocathary, Quality Quills and Inks, Slyson’s Solicitors.

Boreman’s Books was on the corner of a dusty intersection, down the street from a large fountain shaped like a brolly. The sun spilled in through the large picture window, dust motes dancing in the golden light. Parallel rows of shelves stretched throughout the shop, filled with books of all shapes and sizes. Shiny plaques indicated the book sections divided by interest. A few people in robes walked up and down the aisles, browsing through the selections.

“This is the only book seller in town, and there is no library,” Hermione said, after speaking briefly with the shopkeeper. They stood near the front of the shop by the window. Dog pressed his nose against the glass outside, leaving wet smears.

“What are we looking for, exactly?” Harry asked.

“We’re looking for titles that refer to being trapped, or being a stranger in a new world, or about the history of the area,” Hermione said. “Perhaps we can find more detailed maps, too, that point to a way out. Or maybe art books that depict persons vanishing or climbing out of something and we can gain clues from it.”

“So really, we have to look at pretty much everything.” Ron looked at Harry. “I think revising for the N.E.W.T.s would’ve been easier.”

“I suppose we should split up,” Hermione said. “If you think you’ve found something, hold onto the book and I’ll go through all of them before the shop closes.”

With that, she made a beeline for one of the rows of books. Neville glanced at Pansy and Draco, circled his finger once, and strode towards the back of the shop. Pansy tugged at the front of her robe. Draco nodded subtly and Pansy headed along the front aisle to the last row and disappeared down it.

Ron took the backpack from Harry, shouldered it, and looked at Draco. “Who’s going to watch him?”

“I don’t need a keeper, especially one that’s as terrible as you are in blocking goals,” Draco said.

“Go ahead, Ron, I’ll do it,” Harry said. Draco bristled.

“You sure, Harry?” Ron said. Harry nodded. “All right, then.” Ron took a final glare at Draco and walked away.

“Would you like to petrify me, to make sure I don’t move?” Draco said, after Ron was gone. “Or perhaps you’d rather have me on a leash?”

“Just avoid Ron,” Harry said in response, turned on his heel, and wandered down one of the aisles.

Draco gaped after him. 

Outside, Dog sniffed and snuffled the ground as he paced back and forth in front of Boreman’s. Draco hadn’t moved from his spot by the door, other than to turn and watch out the picture window. He could see a reflection of the interior of the shop behind him. His stomach growled, reminding him that they hadn’t eaten yet. He rubbed his aching eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He should’ve nicked another vigilanter potion from the backpack at lunch.

Returning his gaze to the outside, Draco watched wizards and witches pass by the shop. Tension lined his shoulders and kept his hand on his wand handle. Anyone of them could be Death Eaters, trapped in the book like he and the others. They had gotten lucky before, having surprised and disarmed the four they’d left at the shack. Pansy had been right: they weren’t trained Aurors, only Seventh Year students. It would take just one Death Eater with the knowledge of who Harry was and the power to back up his wand, and Harry would be no more.

“Why aren’t you looking at books?”   
  
Draco turned quickly, surprised, wand drawn. Harry stood directly behind him. His tall form had blocked Harry’s shorter one in the reflection. “Make some noise when you sneak up on someone.”

Harry’s mouth quirked. “I think making noise defeats the purpose of sneaking.”

“Don’t do it again.” Draco returned to looking out the window, tucking his wand in his belt. “Next time, I won’t hesitate to throw a curse, even if it’s you. _Especially_ if it’s you.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Why are you so dumb? Perhaps it’s the company you keep.”

“No—,” irritation already threaded Harry’s tone, “—why aren’t you looking at books?”

“I’d think it’d be obvious, Potter. Someone ought to watch for Death Eaters and I don’t trust you lot to guard my back.”

Harry moved up beside him and peered out the window. “Do you think there are more in the book?”

Draco clamped his hand over his left forearm, where the dark mark would be if he had one. “My Death Eater detector doesn’t seem to be working.”

Harry glanced at Draco’s arm and up at his face. “I know that you don’t have a mark on you anywhere, Malfoy.” His eyes widened behind his glasses, realizing what he said, and he turned and walked away quickly.

Draco coloured at the reminder and tried to focus outside the window. All he could see was the reflection of his embarrassed face.

Time passed slowly. The sun settled below the horizon and the lanterns were lit in the shop. Draco moved outside after the shopkeeper’s thirtieth dirty look, even though Draco had told the man that he was awaiting his friends.

Leaning against the grey stone building beside the door, taking his hands in and out of his pockets and shifting his weight repeatedly, Draco watched passersby under half-lidded eyes, feeling the lack of sleep catching up with him. Dog lay across his feet, taking a nap and making Draco jealous. Draco was going to have to do something to wake up. There had better be another vigilanter potion in the backpack. If not, one of the pubs would have javair, he was sure, to give him a jolt.

Across the way, he saw the robe seller closing shop for the night. The others emerged from the bookshop shortly thereafter, shooed out by the shopkeeper. Hermione carried a paper-wrapped parcel in her arms.

“It’s about time you lot appeared,” Draco said irritably. He saw that Ron still had the backpack and wasn’t about to ask or go near him to get a vigilanter potion.

Ron spotted Draco and narrowed his eyes. “There you are. What are you doing out here?”

“Potter let me outside so I wouldn’t soil the carpet like a bad pet.” Draco straightened, shoving Dog off his feet.

“Don’t worry about it, Ron,” Harry said, putting his hand on Ron’s forearm. “I knew where he was.”

Pansy inclined her head, a tiny frown marring the area between her brows. “Everything all right?”

“Yes,” Draco said shortly. “You better have found something.”

“We did,” Hermione chirped. “I’ll need more time to read through them thoroughly, but I think we’re in luck.”

“We’re staying in Piègens tonight, then?”

“That would be a good idea,” Pansy said with suspicious quickness. “It’s late and we’ve been walking all day.”

“The Somnolent Dragon received two wands in _Flying Rats and Piègens_ and is in our price range.” Harry sifted through the small pouch of money they’d nicked from the deceased hunter’s shack. “We’ll have plenty left over for meals, too.”

Hermione and Ron grinned at each other and Harry. “Do you know where the inn is?” she asked.

“Yeah, I sketched a map using that inking spell you taught me.” Harry pushed up his shirtsleeve, revealing crosshatch lines, arrows, and shaky printing on his forearm.

“Harry,” Hermione drew out his name with a playful scolding. “You could’ve asked for parchment.”

“It’s also a good thing no one asked about the other town,” Ron said.

“Oh, I have that one, too.” Harry pushed up his other sleeve with a sheepish grin, exposing a second map.

Hermione sighed. Ron squinted at the maps on Harry’s arms. “Your drawing stinks, mate.”

“Next time, you can be the mapmaker,” Harry said without ire.   He snapped his fingers and started up the street, with Dog chasing after him.

The Somnolent Dragon was a few blocks away from the bookshop. The sign puffed smoke through its nostrils as they passed beneath it, the wooden dragon’s eyes moving with a dream beneath closed eyelids.

The outside of the inn was unremarkable and the inside even more so. A narrow staircase led upstairs inside the doorway on the right. The main area was an open pub room, with craggy tables and chairs scattered on the scuffed wood floor. A large stone hearth took up an entire wall, flames crackling brightly in the fireplace, but giving off no heat due to the weather. A kitchen area could be seen through open door in the back, next to a long, wood bar stained with pale water rings and darker splotches of unidentifiable substances. Liquor bottles and casks filled the wall. An aproned witch with flyaway grey hair stood drying a glass behind the bar when they entered.

“We’ll see about a room,” Harry said. He and Ron crossed the pub to the witch bartender, leaving the other four at the door.

Six other patrons were in the pub area, seated three, two, and one alone, all wearing robes and tired faces. They shot a passing glance at the newcomers, but went back to their drinks and conversation almost immediately.

A few moments later Harry and Ron returned. “Madam Stein will give us one room and a meal for three galleons, or two rooms and no food.”

“We shared a single room last night,” Hermione said, looking at Neville, Pansy, and Draco. “I think we can manage it again.”

“All right,” Harry said, starting back across the room.

“Find out if the meal is dinner or breakfast,” Hermione said after him. Harry waved in acknowledgement.

“This place needs to be aired inside out,” Draco said disgustedly.

“It’ll do for the night,” Pansy said. “I’m sure if we open a window, we’ll be fine.”

Harry returned. “We’re on the third floor, on the right. Dinner is the meal, and we can eat it here or bring it up with us.”

“We can decide after we see the room,” Hermione said.

Draco stepped around Hermione and started upstairs two at a time, wanting to check out the room for traps. He heard Neville say, “I’m going to find the toilet,” and wagered Neville would use the time to look around, noting the exits and possible escape routes.

Draco pushed open the door on the right, on the third floor, and flicked his wand. “ _Detectum_.” The small room had no glow of magical resonance, just residual traces from cleaning and from the hanging lantern, which flicked to life as he walked through the doorway. A large bed took up nearly all the floor space, covered with a blindingly coloured duvet. A wardrobe stood beside the doorway and a single window was directly across from the door. No other furnishings could fit in the room. Boring taupe wallpaper curled near the ceiling and along the base.

Draco turned up his nose, and then visually checked beneath the bed and in the wardrobe, as he heard the others in the hall. Throwing open the shuttered window, he leaned out and looked around. It was a sharp drop to the street below, where Dog sat by the front door. He could see relatively clearly up and down the street because of the full moon. The buildings across from the inn had lights behind the shuttered and curtained windows, but he didn’t see anything suspicious.

“Oh, lovely,” Pansy said sarcastically upon entering the room. Draco perched on the windowsill, wand held low as he began weaving a shield spell over the opening. It was too hot to consider keeping the window closed.

“It’s rather… quaint.” Hermione entered the room behind Pansy. Shoulder to shoulder, she and Pansy took up the extent of the floor space between the bed and the wall.   

“Cosy,” Ron agreed. “This makes the shack seem like a palace.”

“I bet it looks just like home for you, Weasley,” Draco said, finished with his ward.

“No fighting,” Hermione said, with an unforgiving look at Draco. “Unless you want to sleep outside again, Malfoy.”

“Yes, mum,” Draco said nastily and turned back to the window.

“Ignore him,” Harry instructed, as Ron hung the backpack on the bedpost. “Let’s go downstairs and eat.”

Hermione set down her parcel, and she and Ron went with Harry. Neville’s voice carried through the open door. “Where are we going?”

“Dinner.”

“Okay. I’ll come, too.”

“We’re leaving Malfoy alone again?”

“Ron…”

Pansy shut the room door and faced Draco. “To bed with you.”

“What?” Draco said with a frown. “I’m not tired.”

“The last time you slept was in History of Magic on Friday morning.” Pansy pointed at the bed. “Get in there and sleep.”

“Pansy—”

“Draco—,” she said in the same tone of voice. “Neville and I both rested last night and can keep watch just fine on our own.”

“I won’t be able to sleep, you know that.” Draco waved his hand at the open window. “Not with the threat of more Death Eaters out there.”

“What will you do if there are Death Eaters? Snore at them?” Pansy crossed the room and got right up in his space. “You’re asleep on your feet. On top of that, the concealing charm faded and you look awful.”

“I’ll quaff a vigilanter potion and re-cast the charm.”

“I’ll _stupefy_ you.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Pansy’s wand was in her hand in a flash. “ _Wingardium leviosa_!”

“Pansy!” Draco floated up and over the bed. He aimed his wand at her. “ _Rictisempra_!”

She squealed in a very girly manner and began laughing at the tickling charm. Her wand hand jerked back and forth. So did Draco.

“Ah! Stop!” Flying spastically in the air was not something he enjoyed without a broom between his legs. His head smacked against the wall before he was hanging upside down, knees bumping against the ceiling. “Pansy!”

“End your spell!” Pansy gasped.

“You end yours!”

“Together.” Pansy counted between laughs. “One… two… three!”

Neither of them did anything.

“You didn’t do it!”

“Neither did you.” Pansy laughed even more, clutching her stomach, and Draco bounced up and down, body thumping the ceiling, as she rocked.

“Ow! Ow! Stop it, woman! Not the face!” Draco waved his wand every which way, finally getting it pointed at her. “ _Finite incantatem_!”

Pansy stopped laughing and cast immediately, “ _Finite_!”

Draco realized suddenly that the spell holding him airborne had ended and he was still in the air. “Uh-oh.”

He fell headfirst with a squawk onto the bed. The mattress wasn’t very soft. “Agh!” he cried out, his neck twisting funny as his body crashed roughly. Pain shot up and down his spine and spots danced behind his tightly closed eyes. He tried to move and regretted it. “Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger!”

“Don’t move,” Pansy said, her voice steely. “ _Inresolutus_.”

Draco’s entire body stilled, but didn’t freeze as in a _petrificus_ hex. Even his eyelids remained shut.

“ _Valetudeffectricus_.” Pansy hummed and clucked her tongue, like Madam Pomfrey. “Nothing permanent. You just pulled your splinius capitis. I’m going to relax the muscles of your whole body, so you won’t be able to move.”

He couldn’t move now, and couldn’t speak to remind her so.

“ _Laxamentumcorpus_.” Draco felt as though he was melting into the bed. The pain eased. “ _Reficere_.”

His body still felt limp as a noodle, but more solid. He cracked open his eyes and saw Pansy leaning over him, concern creasing her features. “You’re very good at that,” he said.

“I’d have to be, after patching you up over the years.” Pansy pushed his hair from his brow. “If you’d just admit you’re a coward when it comes to animals, they wouldn’t have a chance to claw or bite you.”

“I’ll scream like Celestina Warbeck next time something tries to eat me,” Draco joked with a tired sigh. He was really relaxed. “You can rescue me then.”

“Sleep, you daft nit,” Pansy said affectionately, tracing her finger down his cheek. She straightened and turned to leave. “We’ll wake you if—Potter. Hello.”

Draco rolled his head and looked past Pansy. Harry stood in the doorway, two plates of food in his hands. The door stood open, apparently silent on its hinges. Draco wondered how long he’d been there and how embarrassed Draco should be.

“Hello.” Harry lifted the plates slightly. “I didn’t know if you two were coming down, and Madam Stein was closing the kitchen.”

“Oh. Thank you, Potter.” Pansy walked over and took a plate from him. “I’ll eat downstairs. Draco’s going to catch some sleep.”

“I’ll leave this here, then.” Harry slipped past her and set the plate on an empty shelf in the wardrobe.

Pansy winked at Draco from the doorway and disappeared. Draco would either kiss her or kill her when he saw her again.

“What did you bring me?” Draco drawled, though more because his tongue felt just as relaxed as the rest of him. “Poisoned snails and puppy dog tails?”

“Just beef of some type and vegetables.” Harry stood at the end of the bed, looking at Draco. “Nothing special.”

“Pish. I’m not hungry anyway.” Draco’s eyelids closed in a blink.

The blink must’ve lasted longer than it should’ve taken, because Harry was staring at him from beside the bed, rather than at the foot of it, when he opened his eyes. “Potter?”

“Are you ill?” Harry said.

“Ickle Harry concerned about me?” Draco said sarcastically.

“If you’re sick, the others might get sick, too,” Harry said.

Draco closed his eyes again. “I’m fine, Potter. Pansy plays rough, is all.”

Draco heard no response from Harry. He opened his eyes and saw the tail end of a rather dark expression before it was wiped away. “You’re together, then?”

“What are you on about?” Draco pushed against the mattress, struggling to sit up. He wasn’t going to fight with Harry while laying flat on his back.

Harry grabbed his arm and hauled him upright rather roughly. “Is Pansy your girlfriend? I… uh, won’t have you two hurting Neville.”

“Longbottom begs to be hurt simply by being Longbottom.” Draco’s head swam. Did Pansy’s spell relax his brain, too? “Why Pansy likes him… well, there’s no accounting for a woman’s taste.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Ten points from Slytherin, then.” Draco swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Stop blithering in my ear and go and bother your friends.”

Harry glowered, grabbed the book parcel from the end of the bed, and swept from the room. The door closed silently behind him.

Draco sagged a moment in exhaustion, shook his head hard, and then pushed to his feet. He wobbled but refused to collapse like a rag doll. He saw the backpack on the bedpost and went for it and the vigilanter potion that had to be inside.

There wasn’t one.

“Bloody, buggery, bollocking hell.” Draco knocked the backpack onto the floor, watching dispassionately as its contents spilled out. Rope lay on the ground like a dead snake. Vials of colourful liquid rolled under the bed and the miniature plates and glasses tinkled on the hard floor. The tiny quills lifted and danced in the air as Draco stomped past, going towards the window to keep watch. He didn’t need a potion to stay awa—

His foot landed directly on a standard-size inkbottle and shot out from under him. His arms windmilled, but Vince wasn’t around to keep him from falling. He landed on his back on the floor with a hard thud and an _oof_ , the breath was knocked out of him. The ceiling spun and he closed his eyes before he became dizzy.

“This is stupid,” he muttered. Pansy was right, again, which was very annoying and he’d have to curse her for it, but if he didn’t get some sleep, he’d be no good to anyone and he’d probably end up having his curse backfire and leave him bald.

Draco opened his eyes, sat up, and crawled over and into bed. The duvet may have been violently ugly, but the mattress was soft and the pillows even softer.

He didn’t open his eyes again until morning.


	9. Illusor

_Then_

 

The letter ruining his life was delivered on Friday. It came by Special Owl, down the chute into the Slytherin House common room, marked with the Malfoy seal.

Seated in front of the empty fireplace the last weekend before Hogwarts left out for the term, Draco, Vince, and Greg had been playing Exploding Snap and gorging sweets. They had completed taking their O.W.L.s Thursday and, aside from a small incident with Harry Potter and his friends in Professor Umbridge’s office, things had become rather boring.

Then, the letter came, telling him that his father was in Azkaban.

“In Azkaban, even the strongest wizard cannot survive,” Lucius had told six-year-old Draco. “Your soul is sucked away and you’re left to rot in a cell, wearing rags and without soap. It is better to be dead than disgraced like that, you’d best remember.”

Vince took the parchment from Draco’s nerveless fingers and read it quietly to Greg. Draco stared blankly into space, completely shocked, trying to grasp what it meant. His mother had to be mistaken. His father couldn’t be _there_.

Greg poked Draco in the arm, gaining his attention. “Do you want us to get Pansy?”

“No.” Draco’s reply was hardly a whisper.

“It’ll be fine, mate,” Vince said. “Your mum will contact the law wizards and your father will be out in no time.”

Draco blinked at him and stood. “I’ll be in my room.” He saw Blaise enter as he left.

He made it downstairs, behind the closed door of his dormitory, before the shock wore off. He sank onto his bed, staring at the stone floor without seeing it. His father was in Azkaban.

Draco’s fingers dug into his thighs, his robe providing little protection to his legs. He grit his teeth, nostrils flaring and eyes burning, as fear and anger flowed through him. His father couldn’t be in Azkaban. It had to be a mistake.

He scrubbed his hand across his eyes. Of course, it was a mistake. His father would never do anything that would put him in Azkaban.

The door creaked and Blaise stuck his head inside. “Malfoy, you have a minute?”

“What do you want, Zabini?”

Blaise entered the dormitory, shut the door, and leaned against it. His expression was tense. “I just got done talking to Longbottom.”

“I don’t really care at the moment what Potter and his cronies have done,” Draco snapped.

“It involves your father.”

Draco stiffened. “What about my father?”

“He’s a Death Eater, Malfoy.”

Draco’s wand was in his hand, pointed at Blaise instantly. “Take that back. My father is _not_ a Death Eater.”

“Potter and his friends were at the Ministry last night—”

_“Your father went to the Ministry—”_

“—and they fought a group of Death Eaters. Your father was one of them.”

_“—and apparently they thought he was with a group of Death Eaters who’d broken in, and the Aurors took him into custody.”_

Draco clenched his wand so hard his hand trembled. “Get out. Get out! GET OUT!”

Blaise left swiftly, slamming the door behind him. Red spell-light exploded where his head had been, charring the wood of the door.

Draco sat abruptly on the edge of his bed, panting harshly from between clenched teeth. Rage shook his body and hatred bubbled inside him. It was all Harry Potter’s fault. If it weren’t for him, nothing like this ever would’ve happened. After all Draco had done for Harry, protecting him for years now, this was how he was repaid?

He imagined cursing Harry, torturing him until he died. He imagined gutting Harry with a knife, watching as the blood seeped from the split body and stained the stone floor deep, dark red. He pictured Harry lying there under him, choking beneath his bare hands, the life in those bespectacled green eyes dying slowly—

A sound of misery escaped his throat. Draco closed his eyes tightly, fighting against the tears that stung his eyes. He wrapped his arms around himself, shaking visibly. He couldn’t hurt Potter – he _couldn’t_ – no matter how much he deserved it. The thought of his father being at Azkaban was horrifying, but picturing Harry dead by his own wand, by anyone’s wand, ripped at a place inside him that he hadn’t known existed. It was unexplainable and excruciating, and he didn’t know what he was going to do.

And then there was the fact that his father was a Death Eater. Draco curled forward, over his lap, suppressing a hysterical sound. He could care less about You-Know-Who, thought his ideology was spot on, actually, ridding the world of Mudblood filth and promoting purity of the wizarding race. Draco was all for it, as long as he stayed far away from Potter, and that included his Death Eaters, which, apparently, his father was one.

What was he going to do? How could he be loyal to his family, to his _name_ , if his father was a Death Eater and he was protecting Harry, the very symbol of their downfall, from them?

 

 

_Now_

 

If days passed the same as outside the book, Monday morning dawned with pale sunlight streaming through the open window. Draco blinked sleepily, his fogged mind slow to wake. It took a few moments for him to get his bearings. He was alone, though evidence of rumpled blankets and an indentation in the pillow beside him indicated that the others had slept in the room. Someone had also cleaned up the things he’d spilled on the floor and the backpack was gone. He must’ve been exhausted if he hadn’t heard them come and go, especially in light of his paranoia about Death Eaters.

Draco stretched, rubbed his eyes, and rolled out of bed. He found the toilet at the end of the hall and performed morning ablutions. Feeling much more alert, he combed his fingers through his wet hair, slicking it back temporarily – spell-gel on a wet head would turn into cement – before heading downstairs.

The others were finishing breakfast at one of the tables near the empty hearth. They all looked up at his entrance and Pansy graced him with a smile. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Draco returned, taking the empty seat between her and Harry. It was the same set up as yesterday: Neville between Pansy and Hermione, with Ron beside Hermione and Harry beside Ron. Draco didn’t bother adjusting his chair away from Harry. He snatched a piece of bacon from Pansy’s plate and bit into it. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Pansy said she’d disembowel us if we did,” Neville said with a smitten grin at Pansy.

“And I would have.” Pansy lifted her hand, indicating to Madam Stein to bring another dish of food. “However, I did not force anyone else to get up early, either. You all rose on your own.”

“Any progress on getting us the feck out of here?” Draco said. “Granger, what book are you reading?”

“ _Illusor: A History_ ,” Hermione said. “It’s devoted to the establishment of Illusor, which is what the world within the Tome of Entrapment is called. The book says that Illusor is surrounded by an impassable desert on all sides but then references people from exotic lands coming here. Whether that refers to the people from our world who get trapped or if there are places further past the deserts is unknown.”

Draco looked at the others as he tucked into the meal Madam Stein set in front of him. Pansy and Neville were making coy eyes at each other, which amused him. Ron’s head was propped on his fist, eyes closed, and therefore he missed Harry nicking the food off his plate. Hermione’s nose was in a book, her hair escaping from the braid looped around her head.

Ron opened his eyes suddenly, stabbing his fork against Harry’s, as it hovered above the chocolate muffin on his dish. “Not the muffin, mate.”

Harry smiled sheepishly and withdrew his fork. He set it aside, picked up his plate of scraps, and stood. “I’m going to feed Dog.”

Draco watched Harry walk to the door and go outside. He shifted so he could still see Harry through the window. Simply because it was a nice, bright morning didn’t mean any lurking Death Eaters would skive off.

“I think this might help us.” Hermione pushed aside her empty plate, laid the book on the table, and pointed at the page. “It’s a copy of the oldest known map of Illusor.”

Neville rose and peered closely at the open book. “It’s hard to see any details.”

“Use the omnioculars,” Ron suggested. He dug into the backpack on the floor by his feet to retrieve them. “Here.”

Neville unshrunk the omnioculars and held them to his eyes as he looked at the book. “I’m too close.”

“Go stand by the fireplace,” Pansy said with a wave of her hand. She picked up the book and angled it towards Neville.

“That’s better.” Neville looked through the omnioculars at the page. “I can see more detail, but a lot of it’s still fuzzy. It must’ve been the mimeospell.”

“Is there a way to get a clearer map?” Ron said, as Harry came back inside.

“We can check the bookshop again,” Hermione replied, as Neville returned to the table. She took the book from Pansy and skimmed her finger along the page. “Or we could try the source. It says here that the map is from Philos Scribner’s collection.”

“How do we find him?” Pansy asked.

Hermione opened to the back of the book and skimmed the pages. “According to the bibliography, Philos Scribner lives in Fabula.”

“We copied the map of Fabula off Harry’s arm somewhere.” Ron shifted through the other parchments. “Here it is.”

“Where’s the hunter’s map?” Pansy asked, piling her empty plate on Neville’s so she could lean forward without getting soiled.

“Here.” Harry pulled the rolled up map from the backpack on the floor and handed it to her.

She smoothed the map out in the centre of the table. “It appears it will take more than a day to walk there.”

“Perhaps we should see if there’s transportation of some sort,” Neville suggested. “Even brooms would do.”

“Black Twig’s Broom Emporium is located on Fiddler’s Row,” Harry said immediately.

“Why am I not surprised you know that?” Hermione said. Harry grinned unrepentantly.

“Did the book say anything about transportation?” Pansy said.

“‘Travel is by broom, hoof, water, or foot,’” Hermione quoted. “I read nothing about Apparating, flooing, or portkeys.”

“So brooms it is.” Neville glanced at the closed door at the front of the inn. “What do we do about Dog?”

Everyone looked at Harry. Harry stared impassively back and answered without inflection. “We leave him behind.”

“Maybe Madam Stein could use a pet,” Hermione said gently.

“Maybe.” Harry shrugged and lowered his eyes.

“Why don’t we transfigure him into something else and bring him with?” Neville said.

Harry shook his head. “I don’t want to chance him getting stuck as a thimble or something. Plus, we’d have to keep stopping every few hours to transfigure him back, so he doesn’t change permanently.”

“Can we even afford brooms?” Draco made a face. “So this is what it feels like to be a Weasley.”

“Piss off, Malfoy,” Ron said, ears reddening.

“We’ll have to stock up on food, too,” Pansy pointed out. “Unless we find another conveniently deceased wizard’s empty home.”

Harry took out the pouch of coins and dumped it on the map on the table. He separated a few sickles. “That’s for breakfast this morning, which leaves us with eight galleons, thirteen sickles, and seven knuts.”

“Even if we rode two to a broom, I don’t think that’s enough,” Hermione said.

Neville glanced at Pansy and Draco, at Hermione and Ron, and then looked directly at Harry. “I can fly without a broom.”

“Pardon?” Ron said.

Harry, however, half-smiled. “I’m not surprised. What are you?”

“Sparrow.”

“Snowy owl,” Harry said. “Hermione and Ron aren’t flyers, though.”

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed in scolding.

Harry cut a glance at Draco. “Neither is Malfoy.”

Hermione and Ron appeared surprised and a bit peeved. Draco glared at Harry. “Keep quiet, Potter, or I’ll silence your tongue for you.”

“It doesn’t matter who is what. We’ll all be walking if we can’t afford brooms,” Pansy said.

“Pansy’s right,” Neville said. “We should go and price brooms, see what we might be able to get and still have money left for food supplies.”

“Ron, pass me the backpack.” Hermione began rolling the various maps and parchments on the table.

Harry scooped the coins in the purse, minus the sickles to pay for breakfast, and rose. “I’ll pay Madam Stein and see if she wants Dog.” He picked up the sickles and walked towards the bar.

Draco followed him. “So, we’re going, just like that?”

“It’s better than sitting around,” Harry shrugged. “Besides, Hermione’s usually right. If this map caught her attention, it’s bound to be something important.”

The two Starburst brooms trailed behind an owl and a sparrow as they flew under the hot sun and sunblock charms. Below stretched fields of wheat, weeds, and flowers, greens and browns of various shades notched together like a patchwork quilt. Hermione wore the bespelled backpack, riding behind Ron on one of the brooms, while Pansy rode behind Draco. The cheap brooms were used and very old, but they worked and saved them from hiking from Piègens to Fabula.

“Do you think Granger’s right?” Pansy asked, raising her voice to be heard from behind Draco.

“About?”

“About this map possibly showing the way out of the book.”

“I don’t know. She might be grasping at nothing,” Draco replied.

“I suppose,” Pansy said. “I think I’d rather have a definite goal than wandering around aimlessly.”

They had checked the bookshop, but had been unable to locate a better copy of the map, and the decision to search out Scribner became definite. “I am curious as to how the map would show the way out.” Draco shifted on the cushioning charm. “Pointing arrows or signs reading ‘exit here’?”

“Fly closer to Granger and I’ll ask,” Pansy said. “I’m certain the Brainiac has already figured it out.”

Draco nudged the Starburst and coasted closer to the other pair. Ron glared at him, hands tightening around the wood grain broomstick. “What do you want?”

“To knock you to the ground and laugh as your head cracked open,” Draco replied succinctly.

“Granger, I have a question,” Pansy began, forestalling Draco from doing as he’d said. “How will we know that we’ve found the way out? I doubt it’ll be labelled on a map.”

“I suppose it depends on what else is on the map.” Hermione gasped at the broom’s sudden movement as Ron adjusted. “The labels should be uniform and anything unknown or unusual should be marked as such. Also, if we compare the oldest map to a current map, we can see where changes have occurred, which may help us.”

“What if this is a dead end?”

“I suppose we could speak with some of the people who contributed to _Illusor: A History_ , if they’re still alive. They’ve had to travel all over Illusor to compile the book.”

There was no one below them as they soared through the sky. Occasionally, the fields were flattened in circles and patterns, mooncalf markings. Other beasts, both recognizable and not, leapt and grazed in the grasses. A few blackbirds paced them awhile before shifting course and flying west.

The heat of the sun beat on Draco’s head and wind burned his cheeks, as afternoon traversed into evening. His palms hurt from gripping the shoddy broom handle and Pansy was making his back hot and sticky from leaning against him. They landed once for a too short respite before continuing on. Idle chatter drifted between Ron and Hermione. Pansy was content to sit in silence and let Draco be.

Eventually, they set down in a tall wheat field. Draco stood and watched, rubbing his sore lower back, as Harry, Ron, and Neville trampled the wheat flat, creating a campsite. Hermione cleared a spot in the centre and used the chaff to light a fire. “ _Incendio_.”

“Did you cast a protective ring around that?” Harry said, taking the backpack from her.

“Of course.”

“Anything interesting for dinner?” Ron asked Harry.

“Cabbage and crull-meat,” Harry replied. “I picked some Princess Petals, too, so we can have baked apples for dessert.”

“Have I mentioned how glad I am you can cook, mate?”

“You can show your appreciation by helping.”

“Pansy, take a walk with me?” Hermione requested.

“All right.” Pansy said, and the two disappeared into the wheat.

Neville transfigured six chairs similar to the ones the Death Eaters had, from individual wheat stalks. They wobbled on the flattened field and he frowned momentarily before utilizing the spell Hermione had used to create the fire circle.

Draco indicated to Neville with a hand-motion that he was going to walk around just before the ground exploded where Neville had aimed his wand. Chaff and dirt flew up and shouts from Harry and Ron echoed in the quiet. “Ne _ville_!”

Draco marked the distance the girls had gone, careful not to get too close to where he heard them, and then doubled back to hear what they were talking about, only to get an earful about Neville. He relieved himself and then continued on, making sure they were alone in the field.

Harry had a pan hovering over the fire, with meat frying inside of it along with cabbages and other bits of vegetables, and was currently coring apples, when Draco returned. The wheat had been cleared properly and chairs set up on level ground around the fire. Neville and Ron were playing noughts and crosses on a scrap of parchment, using the _Illusor: A History_ book as a lap-table. Next to Neville, Pansy sat with Hermione and the two were working together on a parchment.

Draco sank down on the chair on the other side of Pansy, rested his head on the backrest, and looked up at the night sky. Stars studded the inky blackness of space. Mars shone brightly still and Draco shifted his attention to look out over the thigh-high fields. He felt more relaxed about the possibilities of Death Eaters out in the middle of nowhere than in Piègens, but with his attention less focused, he had to fight so as not to give into the urge to pick a fight with Harry because he was bored. Besides, Harry was cooking and it’d be best not to disrupt if he wanted to get fed. He was hungry, too.

“We should add Madam Stein, the book seller, and the broom seller on here,” Pansy said, glancing up to look at Hermione.

“Good idea.” Hermione waved at Neville and Ron. “They nicked the quill.”

Pansy leaned over and plucked it from Neville’s hand. “Not anymore.”

Neville handed over a small bottle. “Here’s the ink, too.”

“ _Actuosa_ ,” Ron cast at their parchment. The noughts and crosses moved to the side of one of the drawn boards. The boys used the tips of their wands to slide the characters into place in a new game.

Pansy added to the parchment she had with a flourish. “What about the other people from town?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said. “We didn’t really interact with any of them.”

“What are you doing?” Draco asked.

“Attempting to figure out if we’re following a plot or not,” Pansy replied.

Draco stared blankly at her.

“Because we’re in a _book_ , Draco,” Pansy said. Harry snickered and Draco shot a glare at him. “There has to be more to the Tome of Entrapment than simply being an interactive container.”

“If we’re following a plot, everything native to the environment should have some purpose in directing us,” Hermione said.

“Like Dog.” Harry flipped the meat in the pan, then returned to the apples. “Dog led us to the hunter and to the hunter’s shack.”

“Where we found a map that led us to Piègens,” Hermione continued.

“What about the elk-like herd, the worgs, and the mud hole?” Neville asked.

“All three were dangerous,” Harry said. “They all occurred in the same day, too.”

“The worgs were chasing the elk-herd, but the mud hole happened in the morning,” Hermione said.

“How does that fit into this plot-thing?” Draco said. “By killing off the characters?”

“Neville _was_ nearly drowned at the mud hole and then clawed somewhat badly by a worg,” Pansy agreed.

“Potter was injured by the worgs, too,” Draco said, staring tensely into the distance with the memory.

“So were you,” Harry said.

Draco waved him off. “A scratch.”

“Your _ear_ was partially chewed off.”

“Pansy does that all the time.”

Pansy chuckled. “Only because you deserve it.”

Neville cleared his throat. “Um, should I be jealous?”

“Perhaps,” Pansy answered coyly.

“I don’t know why life-threatening creatures would be included, other than to make the plot more interesting,” Hermione said.

Ron drew a line with his wand and grinned triumphantly at Neville. “Makes me wonder, who the plot would be interesting _to_.”

Everyone went silent and looked at Ron. Ron’s ginger brows rose into his hairline. “What?”

“Do you think he may be right?” Pansy said to Hermione. “Could there be a- an author to this madness?”

“It’s possible,” Hermione said, visibly thinking as she spoke. “But if there is an author, would he be inside the book? Outside? Could he _be_ the book, a sentient object like our Third Year Care of Magical Creatures text?”

“Well, we’re not going to figure it out tonight,” Draco said. “I’m starved, Potter. Is dinner ready yet?”

“Oh!” Harry pushed aside his apples and grabbed the stack of plates off the empty chair behind him. “Yes, dinner’s served.”

Night had fallen and overhead, the moon rose, full and heavy and bright. Dinner was delicious, just like the other meals Harry had made. Draco wondered when the Boy Who Lived learned to cook so well. He was admittedly ignorant when it came to Harry’s home life. The Twins were the closest to Harry and they never told the PRATS how Harry spent his summer holidays.

“I can’t believed we missed an entire day of lessons,” Hermione said, continuing the conversation. “N.E.W.T.s are less than two months away and we cannot afford to skip any lessons.”

“I reckon you’ll manage somehow, Hermione,” Harry said. He chased a piece of baked apple around his plate with his fork.

“How many N.E.W.T.s are you going for?” Pansy asked curiously.

“Too many,” Ron piped in, pink sugar coating the corners of his mouth. “It’s not like she needs them all, either, to get the jobs she wants.”

“Really?” Pansy said, interested. “What is it you’re looking at, Granger?”

Hermione shrugged bashfully. “I’ve been invited to work for the University of Merlin in their research department. There are various invitations for further studies at several other universities and direct requests for employment at Verduen, Sickle & Bones, and Underhill. Oh, and Auror training, as well.”

“Wow, Hermione, that’s brilliant,” Neville said. “I didn’t know about some of those offers.”

“Nothing is certain until I pass my N.E.W.T.s,” Hermione said dismissively. “How about you, Pansy? What are you doing after Hogwarts?”

“I’ve been accepted as a Mediwitch apprentice at St. Mungo’s,” Pansy replied.

“So that’s why you’re so good at healing spells,” Harry said.

“Yes. I’ve been taking N.E.W.T.-level courses with Madam Pomfrey.” Pansy set aside her empty plate. “Since we’re pretending to be Hufflepuffs, what are you doing after Hogwarts, Potter?”

“Auror training,” Harry said promptly, almost before she’d finished her question.

Draco snorted. “As if you’d do anything else.”

Harry simply looked at him in response.

A sneer pulled at Draco’s lips, while inside he felt uncomfortable. Damn Potter. It was moments like these Draco wanted to kick him for being such a martyr. Or kiss him.

“What are you going to do, Malfoy?” Hermione said with a hint of disdain in her tone.

Draco shifted his gaze from Harry to her. “I’m going to get more N.E.W.T.s than you.”

Hermione’s nose went up at the challenge. “We’ll see.”

“How about after school?” Harry said with what sounded like genuine curiosity.

“My options are open right now. Professor Snape instructed me to take N.E.W.T.s in all the O.W.L. classes I received high marks in, so that my choices wouldn’t be limited.” Draco hadn’t gotten any offers like Hermione and nowhere had sparked his interest for him to send an application. He knew he’d be living with Pansy, but other than that…

“Right,” Ron snorted. “No one would hire you because your father’s a known Death Eater and they know you’ll be following in his footsteps.”

“Don’t speak about my father, Weasley,” Draco warned.

“I see you didn’t deny it,” Ron said with a smug look.

“I don’t hear you sharing your vaunted future plans,” Draco said snidely. “Are _you_ following in your father’s wake, as scut worker number twelve?”

“I’d rather clean up after blast-end screwts than have a scum like Lucius Malfoy as my father.”

“My father is not a scum,” Draco hissed, reaching for his wand.

“He’s a bottom-feeding, boot-licking Death Eater—”

“Ron!” Hermione exclaimed. “Enough!”

“We are not going to do this!” Pansy jumped in, putting her hand on Draco’s arm. She glared between him and Ron. “I’m tired of the two of you acting like children, as I’m sure everyone else is. Grow up already.”

Draco jerked his arm out of her grasp, furious and hurt that she’d speak out against him. He flicked a glance at Harry, who was looking at Ron with a frown on his face. Probably worried about his precious Weasel’s feelings. Draco rose and strode stiffly out from the campsite without another word.

The wheat shushed against his trousers as he stalked through the field. He could hear the others’ raised voices behind him, but he didn’t listen. He hated Ron Weasley - hated them _all_ , including Pansy at that moment. His father was a sore point for him, especially when he’d be leaving school soon, and Pansy _knew_ that.

The overhead moon was bright enough to see by as Draco cursed all and sundry under his breath. He needed to get out of the book. He needed to get away from the Weasel, the Mudblood, and the stupid Boy He Loved before he went spare. He needed to take Pansy’s (traitor) advice and shag until he couldn’t remember his own name. Perhaps that Fifth Year Ravenclaw was still interested.

Brilliant, now he was horny and pissed off.

Draco blew out a breath of disgust, stopped walking, and glowered off into the distance. The uncut fields of wheat stretched on as far as he could see. The brown stalks with frayed tips were traced with silver moonlight, standing perfectly still in the breezeless night. A nighthawk skimmed low across the field, silently ruffling the stalks.

The night was quiet, nothing disturbing the peacefulness except for Draco and the buzz of voices behind him, back at the campsite. He brushed his hands against the contradictory prickly-soft tips of the stalks, tickling his palms and sending a rain of fawn-coloured bits on his boot-tops. He wondered what time it was, for he’d be eighteen once the clock struck midnight.

The field was not flat. It crested and dipped in a pattern that undoubtedly created the illusion of rolling waves when the wind blew. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco caught sight of movement. He turned slowly and saw the wheat parting in four places, like sea serpents part the water just beneath the surface. The four grey shapes moved steadily forward, coming over a rise not very far away. The faint shush of wheat brushing against something reached Draco’s ears, and he cautiously drew his wand.

From out of the thigh-high field of wheat rose four large animals with smooth, pale grey skin. Mooncalves, Draco noted with awe. Magical beasts that resembled thin cows with spindly legs and enormous flat feet, rarely seen by wizards in person, only the after-effects of their presence. He’d seen those after-effects from the air, shapes and circles in the fields he flew over earlier.

Balanced upright on their hind legs, the mooncalves raised their bulging, round eyes to the night sky and, at a silent signal, began to dance under the full moon. The mooncalves’ feet flattened the stalks as they moved in an intricate pattern, flattening it in an unknown design. Every full moon, the mooncalves would dance in fields of wheat with fluidity and grace that belied their awkward form.

The beauty of the mooncalves weaving their wordless, worshipful tale entranced Draco. The smooth grey of their skin took on a pale glow from the moonlight. Their sinewy forelegs traced mesmerizing patterns in the air, their bovine faces lifted to the starry sky.

Draco jumped slightly at the soft noise to his right and he reached for his wand, only to drop his hand again with a roll of his eyes.

“Mooncalves,” Harry whispered in awe, stepping up beside Draco. “Brilliant.”

Draco hummed in agreement. He was somewhat peeved at being disturbed. A glance behind him showed Pansy and Neville changing course and following the perimeter, stopping a fair distance away.   He faced forward again and watched the mooncalves fan out, creating a geometric design in the wheat. No sounds rose from their steps to distract from the visual beauty of the dance.

Harry shifted closer, his shoulder bumping Draco’s arm. “The others will be furious that they missed this.”

“Too bad for them,” Draco said in quiet irritation. The mooncalves bowed gracefully towards each other from four separate corners of the design.

“Why do you defend your father if you’re not going to join Voldemort?”

Draco winced at the name, and glanced sidelong at Harry. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

Harry glowered at him. “Just answer the question.”

Draco turned back to the mooncalves, dismissively. “The two are not related.”

“Not related?”

“Yes, Potter, as in one action has nothing to do with the other.”

Harry scoffed softly. “Your father is a murderous Death Eater.”

“He’s still my father.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Harry said.

“If you had parents, it would.” Draco could feel Harry’s irate glare boring into the side of his head. He sighed exasperatedly. “Look, Potter, it’s not that simple. I know he’s a Death Eater and I know he’s killed both Muggles and wizards alike, but he’s never lifted a hand against me. He gives me anything that I ask and is still proud of me. Same with my mother.”

“But they’re not good people—”

“And your parents were the epitome of perfection, never to be tainted by something called reality,” Draco said sarcastically.

Harry fell silent, a pensive frown marring his brow. The mooncalves weaved patterns in the air, inviting the moonbeams to dance with them.

Draco wondered if he could foist Harry off on Pansy and Neville again. He looked over to where they had been standing, and didn’t know whether to grimace or smile. Neville wasn’t that handsome (and Draco knew from blokes), but Pansy seemed to like him anyway. Perhaps Neville was like the mooncalves, the dancing attractiveness of his soul hidden beneath a dumpy, way too hairy exterior.

He felt Harry move beside him and turned from the snogging couple. Harry stared intently at the mooncalves, as if they were going to give him the answer to some important question. The bright moonlight made his hair shine and glinted off the edges of his glasses. His white school shirt appeared to glow and Draco remembered the body hidden underneath.

Draco shifted, crossing his hands in front of his groin. He did not want a repeat of what had happened in the shower; his secret had been literally exposed enough. Even though Harry was looking so very kissable…

Harry lifted his wrist to his ear, lowered his arm and looked at his watch, then made a face at it and dropped his hand. “I reckon it’s close enough. Happy birthday.”

Draco stared at him, gobsmacked.

The mooncalves continued dancing under the pale full moon.


	10. Philos Scribner

_Then_

 

Six hours before school let out for summer holidays, a subdued group met in Delores Umbridge’s office in order to access the floo. Eleven students and the Twins, green flame heads bobbing in the fireplace, were seated scattershot around the office. A single lantern burned on the Professor’s desk, casting haunting shadows, reflecting the heavy pall that had settled over Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Sixteen-year-old Draco Malfoy studied the pattern of moisture, glistening in the pre-dawn light on the outside of the leaded window. He sat on the wide stone windowsill, gangly knees pulled up to his chest beneath his black robes, leaving room for Pansy to share the sill. The side of his head rested against the cool glass, grey eyes troubled as he watched a droplet slide slowly down the window.

Laura Madley rubbed her thumb over the headline of _The Daily Prophet_ on the carpeted floor in front of her, like she could erase what it read. “Cornelius Fudge announced the return of the He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named. It’s not just a possibility any longer.”

“It was inevitable.” Blaise Zabini looked down at her, from his spot cross-legged on the desktop. “Potter’s been cottoning on to it all year.”

Near the locked door, Dennis Creevey looked past his older brother, Colin, at Blaise. “Yeah, but it didn’t seem real.”

“Did you think this was a game?” Charles Warrington, a Sixth Year Slytherin, gestured at the others. “Did you think any of us gave up our lives for kicks?”

“Funny, you don’t look like a ghost,” Fred Weasley said, scratching his mop of hair in the floo.

Charles glared icily at him. “I will if the Dark Lord finds out I’ve been protecting Potter.”

Fred’s expression hardened, mimicked by his twin, George. “Am I hearing dissidence in the ranks?” George said.

“Let’s not argue,” Neville Longbottom said, voice cracking with every word. He rubbed his hand tiredly over his thinly bearded, round face, and shifted in the chintz-covered armchair, his injured ankle stretched in front of him. “We don’t need to fight internally, too.”

The Ravenclaws, Orla Quirke, Mandy Brocklehurst, and Pen-Li, were grouped by his outstretched leg, holding hands in worry and comfort. “What are we going to do?” Mandy asked.

“Protect Harry,” Colin said confidently.

“Just like the PRATS we are,” Blaise added with a cheeky grin.

Orla shook her head. “That was only funny the first thousand times, Zabini.”

“Says who?”

“Says all of us.”

Dennis snickered and Colin thumped him on the head.

“It’s going to be more difficult,” Pansy spoke up. She crossed her ankles, accidentally bumping Draco across from her on the sill. “Sides will be drawn, even if they remain unspoken. Those of us with Death Eater parents are going to be under more observation and suspicion.”

“By _both_ sides,” Pen-Li added.

“The attacks on Potter will also increase, guaranteed,” Charles said, pacing in front of the fireplace.

Blaise nodded in agreement. “Our usual band of bullies won’t be the only ones after him as sides are chosen.”

“Then, there’s the prophecy,” Neville said solemnly. He glanced at Draco. “Lucius Malfoy basically screamed its importance concerning Harry and You-Know-Who.”

“Did you remember anything else, Neville?” George asked.

Neville shook his head. “I’ve tried, but my memory’s already blurry.”

“So we have to go with what we’ve got.” Fred looked at something on his end of the floo. “‘The one – something – to vanquish the Dark Lord – something, something – marked – something – die at the hand of – something – Dark Lord – something.’”

There was a moment of silence. “It sounds like Harry’s going to die,” Laura said quietly.

“Good,” Draco muttered, still painfully bitter about Lucius Malfoy’s imprisonment. Pansy looked at him concernedly.

“What do you mean by that, Malfoy?” George said.

“Nothing.”

“Malfoy—”

“Sod off,” Draco said, turning from the window to glare at everyone. “Potter is alive and well, and we’ll keep him that way.”

George’s eyes narrowed. “Are you with us or against us?”

“It was his father that was arrested,” Mandy said.

“Don’t talk about my father,” Draco said tersely.

“Malfoy,” Charles began, fingering his wand. “Your father’s arrest does change things. Some of us can’t afford for you to tattle about the group.”

Draco set his jaw. “Unlike you, Warrington, I’ve been saving Potter’s arse since I was eleven and will continue to do so, no matter how I feel about the pillock.”

“Why?” Pen-Li said. “You despise him, we all know that, and now with your father in Azkaban, it doesn’t make sense for you to be protecting the Boy Who Lived.”

“His name,” Draco said intently, “is Harry Potter, and he’s just a teenager like me. Only less handsome.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” Pen-Li said.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“Yes, you do,” Neville said with an uncompromising stare. “You, especially, have to prove you’re on our side.”

Draco set his jaw. “I’m not on _your_ side. I’m on my own side.”

“Your father—”

“LEAVE MY FATHER OUT OF THIS!” Draco exploded, swinging his legs over the edge of the sill and clenching his fists at his side.

“I will _not_!” Neville shoved to his feet, shuffle-stomped over to the windowsill, and loomed over Draco. He poked Draco hard in the chest. “You’ve been nothing but a little prick since you’ve joined us and an even bigger prick to Harry. You’ve never shown that you _really_ wanted to help us and now your father, the person you worship with every other word out of your ruddy mouth, is a confirmed Death Eater who tried to _kill_ Harry Thursday night. And someone _did_ die on Thursday; this is not a joke anymore. Now, for the last time, _WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?!_ ”

“ _BECAUSE I HAVE TO!_ ” Draco’s face felt hot and he was shaking with emotion. His chest heaved with every breath and his voice sounded reedy in his ears. “Don’t you think I’d stop if I could? Don’t you think I _know_ what my father would say if he found out? Or my friends? Or everyone in this entire bloody _school_? But I can’t stop. I can’t deny my stupid self and pretend everything is all right. And I hate it. And I hate Potter, and I hate you, and I hate everyone else who makes me feel like this, but it’s not going to change anything. I have to do this, now shut up and leave me alone.”

The office fell silent, the other PRATS members staring wide-eyed at him. Embarrassment over what he’d revealed mixed with anger that he’d revealed it, and his fingernails dug crescents into the palms of his hands.

Neville shifted, cleared his throat, and grunted, “Good. That clears that up.”

He hobbled back to the armchair and sat down. He looked around the room at the others. “What do you think of having something to call meetings with for next year? Hermione came up with this coin-thing for DA...”

“I think I’m glad we left him in charge,” George said.

Fred wiped his eyes. “Our little Neville, all grown up.”

Draco pulled his legs up and faced the window again. He refused to look at Pansy, or at his own reflection in the glass.

 

 

_Now_

 

The bright, full moonlight caught the edges of Harry Potter’s scar, making it seem to glow like the lightening bolt it resembled peeking from between his fringe. His attention was on the mooncalves, awe at the beauty of their dance colouring his features once more. He removed his spectacles and cleaned them with the edge of his untucked shirt. Red indentations marred the sides of his nose, covered again when he put the glasses back on.

“How did you know it was my eighteenth birthday?” Draco said when the surprise wore off.

Harry smirked sideways at him. “Why, was it a secret?”

“No, but it’s _you_ ,” Draco said. “I wouldn’t have expected you to know _my_ birth date.”

“If it’s that important, Pansy mentioned it,” Harry said.

“Oh.” Draco felt suddenly like he’d missed the snitch. “She’s got a big gob.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say about…,” Harry trailed off, looking past Draco with consternation.

Draco turned, preparing for a possible confrontation. “What is it?” he said. He only saw Pansy and Neville kissing still.

“Pansy and, uh, Neville. Snogging.”

Draco looked down at Harry with a narrowed gaze. “Pansy’s a fine catch. Longbottom should count his blessings that she even glanced in his direction.”

“Yeah…” Harry’s face scrunched unattractively in thought and, with a glance at Pansy and Neville, he turned and walked back towards camp.

Draco was annoyed, but what else was new? He wrinkled his nose at the kissing couple and headed over to them. “A- _hem_.”

Pansy and Neville broke apart. Neville ducked his head and Pansy gave Draco an irritated glare. “Thank you for interrupting.”

“Thank you for telling Potter it was my birthday,” Draco responded syrupy-sweet. He glanced back at the campsite a dozen or so meters away and saw Ron spinning in circles, flapping his arms in front of the fire, like a spastic, ginger-haired billywig.

“Did he say something to you?” Pansy said.

“Of course, he’s a Goody-Goody Gryffindor.”

“I didn’t wish you happy birthday and I’m a Gryffindor,” Neville said. He paused. “Happy birthday.”

Draco shot Pansy a pointed look.

Pansy rolled her eyes. She dipped a hand in her pocket and pulled out a small object. “Potter knows because I was torn between two choices for your gift. In fact, he picked it out, because I couldn’t decide. That should tickle your sap-bone.”

“Just give it here.” Draco held out his hand.

“Happy birthday, Your Highness,” Pansy drawled, and pressed the object into his palm.

Draco looked at it. “A book stone?” He turned over the smooth, polished odd-shaped page weight, exposing a rune carved into the tiger-striped surface. He started, his heart thumping once, hard against his breastbone. “And Potter picked this one out?”

“Yes. I have your real gift at Hogwarts, but I couldn’t let your birthday pass without giving you something, even if it was free.”

Draco licked his lips, staring at the stone weighing heavily in his palm. “Pansy, do you know what this rune represents? It’s the Watcher.”

Pansy caught on immediately, her eyes widened in shock. “You don’t think he knows?”

Draco clasped the rock in his hand and tucked it in his pocket. “He could be saying that he’s keeping an eye on me, or some such heavy-handed metaphor.”

“I don’t know,” Neville said. “Harry’s not that subtle. He’d normally either say nothing or tell you directly.”

“You’re saying he just picked out the prettiest rock?” Draco scoffed. Neville shrugged.

“What can we do, without exposing ourselves if he doesn’t know?” Pansy said.

“Nothing,” Draco said. “We continue as normal. Potter hasn’t said anything, so if he knows, he likes it, and if he doesn’t, it’s no skin off our shrivelfigs.”

“Draco, don’t be crass,” Pansy scolded.

“Let’s go back to camp.” Draco eyed Pansy and Neville with a smirk. “That is, if you two have finished.”

Pansy gave him an arch look, turned, and planted a firm kiss on Neville’s surprised mouth. She stepped back and sniffed haughtily at Draco. “Now, we may go.”

Draco choked in mock disgust and started walking towards camp. Pansy and Neville followed more leisurely.

As one, by unknown silent word, the mooncalves finished their dance, lowering to all fours on the ground. The ugly beasts drifted away, moving with a soft shush through the field of wheat.

Draco actually slept again that night, while Pansy was on third watch. He woke to the sizzling sound of breakfast being made over the fire, his transfigured bed a few yards away. Pansy had her head together with Harry, as Harry spread strawberry jam on thick slices of bread. Ron was gone, Hermione was studying a map, and Neville slept on in another bed.

Pansy glanced over at him as he swung his feet out of bed, the soft wheat-coloured blanket shoved to the end of the bed. She had a peculiar smirk on her lips, one that never bode well for Draco. He ignored her and ambled off to take care of morning business.

“I think when we arrive at Fabula, we should go directly to the Government Hall,” Hermione said a little while later, over the meal. “They’re bound to have a directory of some sort that lists where we may find Scribner.”

“How are we going to go about asking him to see the map?” Ron said. “We don’t want to come off as nutters.”

“If need be, we’ll pretend we’re budding cartographers,” Hermione replied. “I’m sure it’ll work out fine.”

“We should be in Fabula mid-day,” Harry said. “I’d rather not stop if we don’t have to, before then.”

“Do you suppose the Death Eaters are still unconscious?” Pansy asked Draco quietly, so the others didn’t hear.

“They should be,” Draco said. “I don’t think they’d catch up with us if they were awake, though, but we should still be cautious.”

“Too bad Dog’s not here to eat this extra food,” Ron said, gesturing to the leftovers in the pan Harry had picked up.

“Ron,” Hermione said with reproach. “I’m sure Dog is much happier where he’s at.”

Harry’s mouth tightened briefly, before he offered the remaining food around the circle. “Any takers? If not, I’ll leave it for the birds, since it’ll spoil if we bring it with us.”

“No, we’re full, Harry,” Hermione said. Harry nodded and walked into the field a short way. Hermione looked irritated at Ron, but addressed everyone. “Give your dishes to me, please, and I’ll clean them and put them away.”

“I’ll transfigure the chairs and beds back to normal,” Neville said, rising.

Shortly thereafter, they took flight, leaving the small crop circle where they’d made their camp. The mooncalves had left new designs in the wheat fields, a starburst with rounded tips, visible clearly from the air. Harry and Neville led, wings flapping, seeking the updrafts, as Draco, Pansy, Ron and Hermione trailed behind on their brooms.

Fabula was situated on a rise, south of the mountains that grew in the distance. It was larger than Piègens, with four well-travelled roads leading out of town in each direction. Farm homes were scattered on the outskirts of the town, vibrantly coloured residential homes and buildings becoming more densely packed closer to the centre of Fabula. Even at a distance, the hustle and bustle of daily life could be heard, making Draco wonder if the sound was an effect of the book, or if the town always was noisy, even without anyone trapped to hear it.

It reminded Draco of Piègens. The witches and wizards of Fabula spared them no concern as they went about their business. Brooms shrunk and pocketed, and Harry and Neville human once again, the six walked along the road towards the centre of town, avoiding horses and carts that rumbled down the streets.

Dust kicked up behind the horses and carts, making Draco cough and get dirty. The noon sun was hot overhead. Standing on a corner across from the Government Hall, in the shade of a canvas overhang, he waited with Pansy, Harry, and Ron, as Hermione and Neville went to inquire about a directory.

“ _Recrare_ ,” Pansy cast at each of them, cleaning away the stickiness and odour from their travels. She smoothed her robes and patted her hair.

Draco checked his appearance in the shop window behind him, adjusting his shirt so it lined with the trouser fastener. He ran his fingers through his hair, combing it quickly. He caught Harry looking at him in the reflection and his stomach flipped. Harry turned away.

“Do you think they’ll have any luck?” Ron said. He bumped his head on the overhang. Draco smirked.

“I hope so.” Harry rubbed the back of his neck. “I’d like to sleep in a real bed.”

Staring blankly at his reflection in the window, Draco’s mind diverged to other activities one could do in a bed, specifically with Harry. Perhaps in that leather outfit that landed them in detention. Draco drew the line at wearing the pink bit of fluff, though… unless Harry asked very nicely.

“That was quick,” Harry said, and Draco started at the insult before realizing he meant Hermione and Neville’s return, not Draco’s performance in his mind’s bedroom. His reflection showed that the bulge in his trousers ruined the neatened clothing line he’d made.

“Scribner lives outside of town,” Hermione said, as she and Neville rejoined them on the corner. Draco casually slouched against the wall beside the window, hands in his pockets, pushing the material of his trousers outwards. “The Reception Wizard warned us that he was a bit eccentric.”

“If he has a map out of here, he could call us all Mrs. Tinkelstar and insist we all wear tea cosies on our heads while re-enacting the Goblin Rebellion of 1492.” Ron laid a hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “Hermione knits a mean tea cosy.”

Scribner lived off the beaten path outside of town, in a pristine three-storey white house with a wrap-around porch that spiralled from the ground to the pitched roof. Garden gnomes peeked from the trimmed hedges surrounding the lower level, chattering to each other. The upper window sashes had been thrown open because of the warm weather.

“Do you suppose he’s home?” Ron crowded behind Hermione and Harry by the front door.

“We’ll soon find out.” Harry knocked.

Pansy stood with Draco on the front path, glancing about warily and eyeing the windows. Draco spell-gelled his hair, neatening it after the flight. Neville wandered over towards the side of the house and peered around the corner.

“Should we all go in?” Neville asked, nearly toppling over the porch rail. He straightened quickly.

“It’s better to stick together,” Hermione said. “It’s also probably best if only one of us does the talking.”

“I nominate Hermione,” Ron said.

“Second,” Harry piped in.

“Go ahead, Granger,” Pansy said. “It was your idea to speak with Mr. Scribner.”

“All right,” Hermione said.

The tall, raised panel door opened and a large wizard filled it. Pear-shaped and dressed in paisley blue robes, he towered over them all, including, amazingly, Ron. A brown, thick, bushy moustache curled upwards, nearly joining with his brown, thick, bushy brows that curled down. His pale green eyes were full of wisdom and cunning as he looked them all over. “Hello? May I help you?”

“Mr. Scribner?” Hermione said. Scribner inclined his head. “I’m Hermione Granger.” She half-turned and went down the line gathered around her. “And this is Ron Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy, and Harry Potter. We were wondering if we could have a moment of your time.”

“Most certainly. Come in.” Scribner stepped back from the doorway and let them into the house.

They crowded in the wood-panelled foyer, with open doorways branching from it and a set of stairs leading up. Maps hung in gold-leaf frames on the walls. A cloak rack extended an arm towards Draco, which he batted away. Hermione let it take the backpack.

Scribner ushered them into an office immediately off the foyer. More framed maps hung on the walls between recessed shelves holding scrolls and books, and an extremely large one hung above a grand fireplace. There was a map painted on the ceiling of the oval-shaped room, and when Draco looked down, he saw yet another map woven into the carpet. Book stones weighted down an unrolled, worn-looking map on the surface of a dark wood desk that stood before the fireplace.

Scribner motioned at the sofa pushed against the wall, situated across from two high backed leather armchairs. “Sit, sit. May I offer you some tea?”

The sofa expanded magically, leaving room for everyone to sit. Draco chose to stand, instead perching his hip on the arm of the sofa on the side nearest the desk.   

“No, we’re fine, thanks,” Hermione said. “Mr. Scribner, we were wondering if we could see the oldest map of Illusor.”

“Now, now, Ms. Granger, there’s no need to start this conversation with a fib,” Scribner sank into the leather chair and clasped his hands over his ample waist. “I can tell by your clothing why you’re really here.”

Draco traded looks with Pansy and Neville above Harry, Hermione, and the ginger giant’s heads. The Gryffindor Trio exchanged glances. “Then, you know we’re searching for a way out of the Tome of Entrapment,” Hermione said straightforwardly.

“I do,” Scribner said with a nod of his head.

“Can you help us?”

Scribner smiled slowly, showing his teeth. “Tell me, have you read a book?”

“Yes, of course.” Hermione sounded offended. “What does that have to do with—”

“What was it about?”

“I’ve been reading _Illusor: A History_ ,” Hermione said, incensed. “It’s where I found a picture of—”

“Have you ever read a story book?” Scribner interrupted.

Draco was becoming uncomfortable. He glanced around the office and caught movement on the desk, as Hermione answered shortly. “Yes, I have, though I much prefer to read about facts, not fiction.”

Numerous small black shapes shifted on the map weighted on the desk. Draco couldn’t make out what they were from his spot by the sofa.

“What was the last story book you read?”

Draco glanced at Scribner. Scribner had a gleam in his eye that reminded Draco of Greg when he saw it was dinnertime. He wasn’t the only one to notice. Harry had a tight look about him, his fingers gripping the arm of the sofa near where Draco leaned.

“ _Hyde and Seek_ , but again, I prefer reading about factual information,” Hermione said smartly. Ron shifted uncomfortably beside her, elbowing Neville accidentally on his other side.

“Do you recall what it was about?” Scribner said.

“Sir,” Harry spoke up. “Not to be rude, but what are you getting at?”

“Miss Granger, what happens in the book?” Scribner said, not responding to Harry.

Draco looked over at Pansy, who returned his concern. Eccentric wasn’t the word he’d call Scribner.

“It’s about a small crew of pirates who sail along the coast of England,” Hermione said, putting her hand on Harry’s arm when he moved to speak again. “They battle against an evil crew of another ship in their search for a hidden treasure.”

“Along the way, do they have many encounters? Storms and the like.”

“Yes, many.”

“Did you cause the storm to happen?”

Hermione frowned. “Of course not. It was part of the story.”

“How do you know? It may have been clear sailing until you got hold of the book.”

Draco didn’t like Scribner’s smile that peeked over his hands.

“It was a Muggle book. The story never alters between the covers.”

“Then, what do the people in the book do when you’re not reading?”

“Do? They don’t _do_ anything.”

“How do you know?”

Frustration coloured Hermione’s voice. “They’re not real.”

“They’re not?”

“No, they’re not. They’re characters in a book.”

“You’re in a book.”

Hermione frowned swiftly. “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

Draco was getting tired of this and opened his mouth to say something scathing, only to close it with a snap when Harry touched his leg. Draco stared at Harry’s hand, then at Harry. Harry glanced up at him and shook his head warningly. He returned his focus to Scribner, but didn’t move his hand from where it rested against Draco.

Perhaps he’d wait a little longer to put Scribner in his place.

“We’re not characters in a story,” Hermione stated.

“Are you sure?” Scribner said slyly.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “How do you mean?”

Scribner tapped his fingers together, a darkly excited sparkle lighting his eyes. “You’re in a book, aren’t you?”

“You’re talking in riddles,” Ron spoke up. “Will you help us or not?”

“I am,” Scribner said.

“How?” Neville said.

“Don’t you see,” Hermione said with wary animation. “We _have_ been following a plot and _he’s_ the author.”

“Exactly.” Scribner lowered his hands, looking chuffed.

“Him?” Ron jerked his thumb at Scribner.

“Someone from Illusor would think the book was reality,” Hermione said. “And anyone trapped in the book wouldn’t know they were following a plot.”

“You figured it out,” Pansy poked a hole in her logic. If the situation weren’t so serious, Draco would’ve laughed.

“If you’re the author, how do we get out of the book?” Harry demanded to know.

“You don’t.” Scribner stood and went over to the desk. Draco’s hand moved to his wand, as his gaze followed Scribner. “I need characters for my story.”

“We’re not characters—”

Hermione must’ve put her hand on Harry’s arm, quelling him. “How do you know we’ll cooperate? Now that we know it’s a plot, we could simply sit here, doing nothing.”

Scribner appeared not to like the sound of that. “You don’t have a choice.”

“We always have a choice,” Hermione stated. “Harry’s right, we’re not characters in a book. We have the free will to do or not do anything we’d like.”

“Do you really think so?” Scribner laughed. “My dear, everyone is controlled by someone else. Life itself is a book and you’re all merely characters in fate’s plot. Only now, it is _I_ who controls fate.”

Draco tensed, fingering his wand handle.

“You are more problemsome than my usual characters, I’ll give you that.” Scribner looked down at the map on the desk. “You veered from the plot when you left Dog in Piègens and somehow found me. I don’t know how you did that, but no matter, I’ll soon have you back in the correct storyline.”

“This bloke’s a raving nutter,” Ron said under his breath.

“The only thing you’re going to do is tell us how to get out of here,” Harry stated.

Draco’d had enough chit-chat, it was time for threats. He drew his wand. Scribner caught the movement, looked up, and tisked. “I wouldn’t bother. Your wand won’t work against me. My book, my rules of magic.”

“Let’s find out anyway,” Draco drawled.

Harry stood and beat him to it. “ _Petrificus_!”

Misty spell-light whooshed from the tip of Harry’s wand, heading straight for Scribner. At the last moment, the spell-light deflected, as if striking an invisible shield, and ricocheted back at Harry. Draco snagged Harry’s arm and yanked him out of the way. The spell struck Hermione and she froze solid.

“Hermione!” Ron shot to his feet, drew his wand, and threw another spell at Scribner. “ _Stupefy_!”

“ _Finite incantatem_ ,” Neville cast on Hermione, who had fallen sideways on the sofa where Ron had been.

Ron’s spell bounced back. Red light seared through the air and hit him between the eyes. He fell backwards, unconscious, on top of Pansy, Neville, and Hermione, as Hermione was unfrozen. The three cried out in surprise.

Scribner laughed again. “I am in control here. This is _my_ story and—”

“ _Wingardium Leviosa_!”

A book flew off one of the shelves recessed in the wall and sailed high-speed at Scribner. Scribner barked out in surprise and pain as the book hit him.

Draco shot a surprised look at Harry’s determined face before the office exploded into chaos.

Ron thudded on the floor and Hermione, Neville, and Pansy jumped to their feet, waving their wands. Books flew from the shelves, pummelling Scribner. Draco aimed at the inkbottle on the desk and dumped it on Scribner’s head. Scribner wiped blindly at his eyes as Harry spell-threw another thick book, hitting him in the shoulder.

“Stop!” Scribner shouted. Neville and Pansy stepped over Ron and worked together to magically shove the desk, sending Scribner scurrying backwards, trapping him against the fireplace. More books smacked him, courtesy of Draco, Harry, and Hermione. “Stop! Stop! I command you to stop!”

“We don’t have to listen to you, because we have free will!” Hermione exclaimed in a rather pathetic rally cry.

Draco saw the large framed map hanging on the wall above the fireplace shake, as his book projectile hit it instead of Scribner. An idea sparked and he aimed his wand at the map. The frame rattled on its hook.

Scribner drew his wand from his voluminous sleeve and fought back. “ _Stupefy_!”

The red spell-light knocked out Neville. He crashed to the floor, landing on top of Ron.

Pansy tried to stun Scribner in return. “ _Stupefy_!”

The spell-light bounced off the invisible barrier and Pansy dove out of the way, as it ricocheted back at her. She bounced on the couch where she landed.

“ _Stupefy_!” Scribner cast again, aiming at Harry.

“ _Expelliarmus_!” Harry cast simultaneously. Scribner’s wand flew from his hand and his stunning spell went wild. Hermione used a flying book to deflect it before it hit her.

Scribner’s wand landed on the carpet by the prone Ron and Neville and rolled under the sofa. The book stones rose up from the desk and struck Scribner’s unprotected face. A fire roared to life in the fireplace, singeing his robes, and he screeched like a banshee. “YOU’RE NOT FOLLOWING THE PLO—”

He cut off abruptly, as the framed map finally came free from the wall and crashed onto his head. He crumpled, falling forward over the desk. The map smashed to the ground behind him, glass shattering on the fireplace stone. It caught fire.

Draco smirked smugly. “We’ll make our own plot, thanks.”

“I hope you didn’t kill him.” Hermione went over to Scribner and cautiously checked on him.

“It was a great idea, Hermione,” Harry said, shoving his glasses up his sweaty nose.

Draco preened.

Pansy brought Neville and Ron to consciousness. Harry peered around the desk. “His robe is on fire.”

“We’d better move him.” Hermione and Harry extinguished Scribner and spelled the desk away from the fireplace.

Scribner slid onto the floor, landing in an ungraceful heap. Draco’s lip curled as he looked down at Scribner’s ink-smeared, slack features. He pointed his wand and rope shot from the tip, tying around Scribner. Draco tied it extra tight.

“Now what?” Ron questioned, rubbing the back of his head. He perched on the edge of the sofa next to Neville.

“Scribner must know the way out,” Pansy said, hands fluttering around Neville’s shoulders.

Neville captured a hand and smiled reassuringly at her. Draco found it rather appalling. “But how do we get him to tell us?” Neville said.

“We could torture the git.” Draco kicked Scribner in the head.

“That would be the first thing that came to your mind, Malfoy,” Ron said.

“I don’t see you coming up with any ideas.”

Hermione picked up a book and stroked the cover before setting it on a shelf. “I doubt questioning him any further will get us anywhere.”

“Come and look at this,” Harry said, standing in front of the desk. They gathered around, Pansy, Neville, and Ron standing across from Harry. Draco subtly took the spot on Harry’s right and Hermione crowded beside Harry on the other side.

Harry centered the worn-looking map Draco had noticed early on the surface of the desk. It appeared to be a map of Illusor, somewhat matching the one that had been in Hermione’s book. Black spots the size of a thumbnail grouped together in places and moved around. There were no words on the map, but rather flat pictures of miniature buildings, trees, and mountains.

“What do you suppose it is?” Ron said, his big head casting a shadow over half the map.

“I would think that was rather obvious, Weasley,” Draco drawled.

“From their positions on the map, this has to be Fabula.” Hermione pointed to a cluster of black spots and then at another cluster, with pictures of buildings surrounding each of them. “And that must be Piègens.”

“Then the hunter’s shack must be here.” Harry poked the tip of his wand at a clump of four black spots in the middle of a lot of trees, near the southwest corner of the map.

The map changed suddenly, the edges streaking towards the point where Harry touched. It looked like when Draco dove on his broom, speeding headfirst towards the ground, the world zipping past almost at a blur. The map snapped into focus and they were staring at Roderick, Hopkins, Wiltshire, and Charlton, sitting around the table in the familiar surroundings of the hunter’s shack. The view was from the side, as if they were looking at a portrait.

“Bloody hell,” Ron breathed.

“It’s only been three days,” Pansy said. “You must not have given them enough of the potion, Granger.”

“I’m not too caring that they’re awake. I want to know why we can see them.” Harry waved his hand over the map, as if saying ‘hello.’ “Do you think this is like a two-way mirror?”

The Death Eaters continued sipping their tea, talking amongst themselves.

“I wonder what they’re saying?” Neville said, peering closer.

“There’s a bunch of symbols here.” Ron pointed to a blocked off section in the upper corner of the parchment. He craned his head to see the pictures rightside-up. “It looks like there’s a stag, a wolf, a flooper, some sort of blanket-thing, a wizard, some clouds, an ear, and an X.”

“Harry, touch the ear with your wand,” Hermione said with sudden excitement.

Harry glanced at her and then brushed against Draco’s arm, as he leaned forward across the desk and did as told. Draco could see a scrap of skin peeking from beneath Harry’s untucked shirt as he stretched. He started when the Death Eaters’ voices sounded clearly in the room.

“—don’t think it’s possible. There isn’t any mandrake root.”

“What if we substituted grovelers for the mandrake?”

“Use grovelers? In this heat? I’d rather wait until they were frozen in the winter than listen to their whinging.”

“Wicked.” Ron poked his wand at the symbol of a stag. “What’s this one do?”

Neville tugged back Ron’s elbow. “Ron, maybe you shouldn’t—”

A low rumble of thunder filled the office. Draco exchanged a perceptive look with Harry, which felt rather comradely and did something funny in Draco’s stomach.

“What’s that?” Hopkins’s voice questioned. The thundering grew louder.

On the former map, Charlton rose to his feet and went to the door. “Sounds like a storm’s brewing.”

Wiltshire glanced at the window, where sunlight streamed into the shack from between the curtains. “It doesn’t look like rain.”

“Don’t tell me it’s those bloody elks again,” Charlson said, his hand on the door latch.

Roderick jumped to his feet, upending his chair. “Charlton, don’t open the door!”

It was too late, Charlton had already opened it. He cursed. Outside, visible through the doorway, a herd of huge, elk-like animals galloped straight towards the shack.

Roderick ran for the door and slammed it shut. The shack trembled as the herd thundered towards them. Roderick pulled his wand and jabbed it under Charlton’s chin. “You stupid sod! Do you want to let them _in_ here?”

Hermione stretched over the parchment, blocking their view, and tapped the ear symbol with her wand. The office became abruptly silent. Hopkins and Wiltshire were huddled under the table and Charlton cowered on the bed beneath the window in the shack, when Hermione moved out of the way. Roderick appeared as though he was fighting something banging against the door.

Hermione leaned forward again and tapped the X. The image zoomed swiftly outwards, the four Death Eaters shrinking rapidly until they became four dots clumped between a lot of trees.

“I think we know how Scribner controlled the plot,” Neville said, amazement colouring his tone. “It’s almost like a _Choose Your Own Spell_ story.”

“Where are we?” Ron leaned forward to examine the map, his large nose acting like a pointer.

“Somewhere over here.” Hermione touched the black spots in the Fabula area with the tip of her wand. The map dove inward, but instead of showing them directly, it stopped at a mid-point. The black spots had spread out, collected in twos or threes, or standing individually, in buildings. One particular building on the outskirts had six spots. Hermione tapped there with her wand, and suddenly they were looking upon themselves, clustered around a desk in Scribner’s messed office. Scribner lay tied up on the floor behind Hermione, Harry, and Draco.

The symbol box appeared in the upper corner of the parchment. Neville grabbed Ron’s arm when he went to touch a symbol with his wand. “Don’t. We’ve had enough excitement for today.”

“Why were there only six spots, not seven?” Pansy asked.

“Perhaps because he’s the author of the Tome of Entrapment,” Harry said, glancing over his shoulder at Scribner. “I’d wager the black spots were all the people trapped in the book.”

Hermione tapped the X twice and the image whooshed outward. “This is quite ingenious. In order to control multiple plots at the same time, he would’ve had to create a self-sustaining world. Therefore, while he was manipulating one group of people, the other storylines would continue on independently.”

“And because we’re not simply characters in a story we were able to ‘veer from the plot’ when he wasn’t looking,” Pansy said.

“Exactly.”

“Smashing to know that the nut case is also a genius, but how does that get us out of here?” Draco said.

“I’ll study the map,” Hermione said, nudging Harry out of the way. Harry trod on Draco’s foot as he moved and stumbled backwards. Draco’s arm looped behind Harry without thought, catching him from falling and ending up with his hand planted on Harry’s firm arse.

Draco stared into Harry’s startled face. A flush stole up Harry’s neck, visible under the open collar of his shirt, and coloured his cheeks. “Thanks,” he mumbled. He got his feet under him and moved quickly away.

Draco tracked Harry with his eyes and undid the top button of his shirt. Someone needed to douse the fire in the fireplace.

“Everyone else, start looking for some sort of diary or journal,” Hermione went on. “Scribner had to have written notes down.”

“I’ll check upstairs,” Harry practically fled the office before the words left his mouth.

Draco watched him go, and then caught sight of Pansy and Neville’s twin looks of bemusement. He scowled and stalked from the room. “I will see to this level and the cellar.”

Searching for a book was as tedious as being stuck in one. Draco found nothing resembling notes or instructions on how to escape on the first level. The cellar wasn’t very illuminating, either.   Small, golden eyes peeped at Draco from a pile of rags and when he kicked it, a tawny kitten streaked across the cellar for the steps with a yowl.

He abandoned the cellar and went upstairs to pester Potter.

“Done already?” Harry said absently, bending over to look beneath a cupboard.

“Yes. Unless the cat had notes tattooed on its belly, I found nothing.” Draco leaned against the doorjamb, staring appreciatively. “I came up here figuring you needed the most help.”

Disappointingly, Harry straightened and faced Draco. “Why would you think that?”

“Two eyes are better than a blind man,” Draco said, tapping his temple.

Harry pushed his glasses up his nose with an unheated scowl. “I’ve done the two rooms on this side of the hall.”

“We should search the remainder of the rooms together. It’ll take less time.”

“All right.”

Draco was knocked off-balance by Harry’s easy agreement. Suspicion sparked. “Why?”

“Why what?” Harry turned in a slow circle in a final survey of the bedroom.

“Do you think I’m going to sabotage our chances for escape?”

“What are you on about?”

Draco wasn’t sure, but arguing with Harry made things feel normal. “I don’t need a keeper.”

Harry walked up to him. “Neither do I.”

Draco made a sound of disbelief, staring down at Harry. “Even if you weren’t the ruddy Boy Who Lived, you’d need someone to look after you, Potter.”

Harry turned his head and looked at some invisible thing intently for a moment, before looking back up at Draco with a resolute expression. “I think you look at me enough already.”

With that, Harry pushed past a shocked Draco, rubbing unavoidably against him and making places tingle and tighten.

Harry went across the hall into another bedroom. Draco followed after a trouser readjustment. “What the bloody hell does that mean?”

Harry stood near the window of the bedroom, searching through a chest of drawers. It was a children’s room, cluttered with toys and a short bed. A mural of dragonflies on the wall swooped and breathed painted fire. Several stuffed animals crawled beneath the bedcovers, the others staring in curiosity at the visitors.

“You’re queer.”

Draco drew up short, nearly tripping over his own feet. It felt like his chest caved in, the words like a physical blow. “I am not,” he denied hotly. “Where did you hear such a vulgar rumour? If anything, you’re the one who’s a poof, Potter. Giving it up for the Weasel—”

“Pansy told me.” Harry glanced over his shoulder at Draco and looked quickly away. “I asked her if she was your girlfriend and she told me you were gay.”

Draco’s breath whooshed out of him at the betrayal. His sweaty hands trembled as he clenched them into fists at his sides. “You haven’t told anyone, have you?”

“No.”

“If you do, I will kill you,” Draco said tightly, and it wasn’t an idle threat.

Harry turned around. “I won’t.”

“I mean it, Potter.” Draco stared daggers at him. “I will _kill_ you if you say a single word to anyone.”

“I _won’t_ ,” Harry said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know what a big deal it is.”

“No, you don’t,” Draco spat. “You know _nothing_ about what it’s like or what it means. You with all your bloody girlfriends, snogging whenever you bloody well want and not being afraid that someone’s going to give you a kicking because of it. Or bathing after Quidditch without worrying about accidentally looking in fear of being found out. Or having best mates who’d refuse to associate with you if they knew, thinking they’d get gay germs, like it’s some vile disease.”

Draco shook visibly with emotion. “And what about my father? His only son, sprung from his manly loins, is a limp-wristed pillowbiter. The shame I’d bring to the family name, centuries of Malfoys coming to an end because of what I am. I’d be better off telling him I’m not joining the Death Eaters because of _you_ than letting him learn that I’m gay.”

Harry stared, mouth slightly parted at his outburst. Draco’s lips thinned, the corners of his eyes stung, and his cheeks felt hot. He spun on his heel and stalked over to the wall across the room, where another map had been painted. He breathed heavily through his nose, clenching and unclenching his fingers. Now, he’d not only confirmed he was gay, he’d made a fool of himself.

Uncomfortable silence filled the room. The dragonflies swarmed in front of Draco. He swatted at them, his hand slapping violently against the wall.

“Malfoy—”

“Shut up, Potter.”

“But Malfoy—”

“I said shut up, Potter.”

“Mal—”

Draco whirled around, wand drawn and pointed at Harry. “Shut up!”

Harry stared blankly at him and jerked a thumb at the door. “Hermione’s calling.”

“Oh.” Draco lowered his wand, chest heaving as his anger swiftly departed.

“We’d best get downstairs,” Harry said.

Draco nodded once and swept from the room.

Hermione pointed at the map on the desk, as the others gathered around her. “It took me a while to figure this out, but I think we need to go here.” She indicated a spot in the southwest area with her wand.   “It looks as though we have to return the way we came, past the hunter’s shack, as far to the south-southwest as we can go.”

She pressed the tip of her wand on the parchment in that area. The map changed, bringing into focus a soupy grey mist and shadows of trees. She touched the map again and the view shifted, magnifying the area more. The thick mist made it nearly impossible to see the ground and the black line bisecting it.

“In every other direction that I tap my wand, there are ‘natural’ boundaries to Illusor, such as the mountains to the north and the canyon to the west,” Hermione said. “This area is the only place where such a boundary doesn’t exist. Illusor ends at a black line.”

“We did come in through a mist,” Harry said from beside her.

“That’s why I think we should try it.” Hermione returned the map to normal. “We haven’t been able to find any of Scribner’s notes and we can’t stay here forever.”

“What if you’re wrong?” Pansy said.

“Hermione is seldom wrong. It can be quite annoying—” Harry grinned at Hermione to take the sting out, “—but at times like this…”

“We follow the Mudblood,” Draco finished.

Harry shot him a dark look. “It’s a wonder why people don’t like you.”

“It’s taken us four nights to get to Fabula and now we have to go all the way back?” Ron said.

“I know. All those lessons we’re going to miss,” Hermione sighed.

Ron looked across the desk at Harry. “That’s just what I was thinking.” Harry hid his grin with his hand.

“Perhaps there’s another way to travel that will get us there faster.” Pansy left the room and returned with the backpack.

“Well, we know we can’t Apparate,” Neville said.

“We could ask our old friend Scribner,” Ron suggested, glancing at the still unconscious, tied up wizard on the floor. “Be a pity to have to wake him up, though.”

“We might not have to. Look at this.” Pansy took out the maps of Piègens and Fabula, transferred from Harry’s arms, and laid them on the desk over the Illusor map. “I saw these yesterday at breakfast, but I just remembered now.” She pointed to a spot in the centre of the Fabula map. “‘Fountain station.’” She shifted her finger to the map of Piègens, where another spot was labelled the same.   “‘Fountain station.’ I wonder what it means.”

“Most likely, it’s a place to buy ice cream.” Draco gave her an icy look. “A place I’m sure you’re familiar with, as evidenced by your troll hips. I suppose Longbottom fancies chits who can’t fit through doorways.”

Pansy’s brow lifted. Draco turned his back to her.

“Why don’t we find out?” Hermione said. “We still have our brooms, if not.”

Hermione rolled one of the maps while Pansy and Neville rolled the other two. They went into the backpack, which Harry took.

Harry looked at his watch, shook his head, and glanced at the others. “I’d guess it’s around lunch. Do we want to eat first or just go?”

Ron’s stomach rumbled in answer. He grinned sheepishly.

“What do we do about Scribner?” Neville said, gesturing to the felled wizard. “I’d rather not have him start ‘plotting’ after us.”

“ _Somnorous_!” Hermione tucked her wand in her belt. “That should keep him asleep for forty-eight hours.”

“Let’s go, then.” Harry led the way out of the house, flanked by Ron and Neville. Hermione dropped back to chat with Pansy, whom Draco steadfastly ignored.

“Do you think what Scribner said was true? That we’re just characters following a plot in fate’s book?” Harry said.

“Nah,” Ron said. “He’s probably gone spare from being in this book for too long. We should get out of here before we start spouting things like, ‘the world is nothing but a desk and we’re just the bogies stuck underneath.’”

They returned to Fabula and found a cheap pub in which to spend their last sickles. If they got stuck in Illusor any longer, they might have to do something plebeian, like work. Draco chose to sit between Ron and Neville, as they were the two who’d least pissed him off that day. Ron kept giving him sidelong, unfriendly looks throughout lunch. Hermione quizzed the waitress about the Fountain station and the possibilities of portkeys.

“Port-what?” the plump woman shook her head. “I don’t know about whatever thems is, but the Fountain will take you to Piègens or any other town you’d like to visit.”

The waitress left them to their food, but they were almost too excited to eat. “If we use the Fountain, we’ll save two days flight,” Hermione said.

“And we walked those first two days here. Imagine how far we can get flying on brooms?” Harry said.

“Shall we aim to reach the end today?” Pansy asked.

“I’m for that,” Neville said.

“Mwe, twoo,” Ron said with a mouthful of food.

“I think we all are,” Harry said. “Malfoy?”

“Don’t speak to me.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Do you agree or not?”

“It’s not like I have a choice,” Draco sneered.

“You always have a choice.”

Not since he was eleven, he hadn’t. Stupid Potter.

Lunch was consumed rapidly and, after a quick trip to the toilet, they set off. The Fountain station was actually a large, outdoor water fountain. Clear water fell in smooth sheets from a tall, brolly-like statute in the centre. The pool beneath was sunk into the ground. Platforms the width of a person bridged from the street around the fountain and disappearing beneath the waterfall. Metal signs on short posts marked each of the platforms, indicating where the path led.

“Makersville, Langue, Logos, Allegor, Trapman’s Pass… ah, here’s Piègens.” Harry stopped at the head of one of the platforms and squinted at the water. “We’re going to get wet.”

A family of four splashed out from beneath the waterfall three platforms down. The mother cast a drying spell immediately and they barely spared them a glance as they walked continued on their way.

“‘Travel is by broom, hoof, water, or foot’,” Hermione recited suddenly. “This must be the ‘water’. If only we would’ve thought to ask, we might’ve been back at Hogwarts by now.”

“We’ll be back soon enough,” Harry said, and walked right under the waterfall.

Neville glanced at Pansy and Draco and hurried after him, vanishing beneath the water.

“Ron, you should duck or you might hit your head,” Hermione said, before taking her turn.

Ron promptly smacked his head on the fountain overhang as he made to follow.   His exclamation was a gurgled, “Ow!”

“All right, Draco, now that we’re alone, what’s got your knickers in a twist?” Pansy said.

Draco rounded on her. “Don’t talk to me, you pug-faced bitch.”

Pansy’s chin lifted and she stared down her nose at him. “Come again?”

“You told Potter I was gay,” he ground out. “I will _never_ forgive you for that.”

Draco spun on his heel and stalked into the Fountain. He cursed as the cool water ran over his head, soaking him to the skin. Faster than floo powder, Draco stepped through the curtain of water and outside onto an identical platform past a brolly-like overhang of the Piègens Fountain station.

He swiped his wet hair back, out of his eyes, and found Harry staring avidly at him. Draco’s lip curled in a snarl. Harry jerked suddenly and turned away.

Draco’s feet squished as he walked off the platform. A gust of hot air buffeted him, as he cast the drying spell on himself and slicked his hair. Drying spells always made his hair stand out like the head of a dandelion and he wasn’t giving anyone any power to taunt him.

“I suppose we’ll fly from here,” Hermione said, after Pansy had joined them. She put on the backpack and tucked Scribner’s rolled map of Illusor up her sleeve, for easy access. “Harry, Neville, don’t pull too far ahead. We don’t want to veer off course.”

“Right.” Harry and Neville walked into an alleyway between buildings and an owl and a sparrow reappeared.

Draco held himself stiffly as Pansy mounted the unshrunk broom behind him. He nearly told Hermione to ride with him, instead, but didn’t want to have to come up with an excuse to do so. He just wanted to get out of the book and as far away from everyone as possible.

Draco followed behind Ron and Hermione. Neville alit on the tail of Ron’s broom a short while later, hitching a ride. Harry soared overhead, circling majestically as he kept pace with them. The brown fields of wheat and tall grasses passed swiftly below. They rose high, flying over the tops of the trees when they reached the forest. The sun beat down, no clouds providing relief as they continued on. Conversation was non-existent, except for Hermione’s directions.

Through the breaks in the trees, Draco saw the herd of elk-like creatures thundering across the ground. Worgs followed them, loping through the forest on the hunt. Several raised their heads towards the sky and howled as the broom-riders passed.

“There are my footprints!” Hermione said, pointing below. The yellow-gold glowing trail curved through the woods, shaped as hoof prints at first, and then becoming small human footprints, almost too small to make out. They stopped once for a short break before taking flight again. The shadows cast from the trees made the glow intensify and they seemed to be following the path that they made.

Draco pulled abreast of Ron and Hermione. “Are you still following the map?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “I told you earlier that we were going back the way we came.”

“ _All_ the way back?” Draco said. The wind loosened a strand of his hair and it tickled his cheek.

Hermione nibbled her lower lip. “I’m not sure exactly where we started, so I can’t answer that.”

“We started in an empty, white space, devoid of anything,” Pansy said. Draco thinned his lips at her voice. “How is that going to lead us out of here?”

“I guess we’ll see when we arrive.”

Harry circled down as the sun began setting and landed on Ron’s shoulder. “Look. Up ahead,” Ron said.

In the distance, a deep grey fog rose from the ground, above the trees. It blocked out the sky, a dense cloud cover without definition.

“Our footprints lead right into it,” Hermione said.

“Get the rope, Hermione,” Ron said. “We need to tie the brooms together. Leave enough slack so we don’t pull each other off.”

Hermione shifted the backpack on her shoulders and grabbed Ron quickly with a squeak, as he adjusted the broom. Parents tied children’s brooms to theirs while they were teaching them to fly. Hermione took out the rope, shortened and unshrank it, and passed an end to Pansy. Pansy knotted it and handed it to Draco, who looped it around the curved handle of the broom. Ron had instructed Hermione to tie their end above the bristles, behind her. Neville hopped from the bristles to her shoulder and half-hid beneath her thick mane of hair.

They were at the fog in what seemed like moments. “Stick close,” Ron said, and Draco shot him a sneer. Harry’s unblinking owl stare bored into him.

Side-by-side, they flew into the penetrating gloom. The moist air clung to Draco’s skin, making him clammy. He could barely make out the treetops they skimmed and couldn’t see further than a hand’s reach in front of him. Animal noises drifted from the ground, caws, screeches, and growls. The fog pressed in on him and he felt like he was breathing soup.

He kept close to Ron, not wanting to get lost. The glowing footprints were no longer visible. They had no way of telling which way they were going. The thought that they could fly in circles indefinitely settled like lead in Draco’s stomach.

Abruptly, they flew out of the mist into a brilliant white light. “Ah!”

Draco threw up an arm, blocking his tearing eyes from the brightness. He felt Pansy’s forehead against his back and he shrugged her off.

Draco lowered his arm and squinted as his eyes adjusted. All around him was white, with no discerning shapes or horizon line. Solid, glowing footprints marked a clear path under them. It was hard telling how far they were up in the air.

“Where do we go from here?” Draco said.

“Keep heading in the direction of the footprints,” Hermione said.

Time and distance vanished as they flew on, once the footprints ended. “Here’s where we began.” They didn’t stop. Harry took flight again, soaring ahead. The white owl blended into the white background and Draco’s hands tightened around the broomstick, despite his current resentment towards Harry.

“How long are we going to go on?” Ron asked.

“Until we find the end, or we choose to stop,” Hermione said.

“Funny how Potter picked the wrong direction,” Pansy said.

“Did he?” Hermione said ponderously. “Scribner created the Tome of Entrapment to be a storybook and you have to start a story in order to finish it.”

“So, if we would’ve turned around right when we got into those woods, we could’ve been home days ago?” Ron said.

“Perhaps, but we wouldn’t have necessarily known this was the way out.”

“We don’t know that now,” Draco said. “We could be flying towards nothing forever. And where the hell did Potter go?”

“Granger, is there anything else on that map that would tell us how to escape the book?” Pansy said.

Hermione pulled the map from her sleeve and unrolled it, resting it against Ron’s back. She wobbled as she tried not to let the map blow away and draw her wand. Neville peeked out from beneath her hair. “No landmarks, or spell words, or anything,” she said after tapping the map with the wand. “I don’t understand. This shouldn’t be so difficult. We should be able to get out of here.”

“Well, what do you normally do when you finish a book?” Pansy said.

“Start another one.”

“Yeah,” Ron laughed, “She barely puts one down before beginning the next.”

“Maybe we should land,” Hermione said, sounding frustrated and distraught.

“Untie us, Malfoy,” Ron said. Draco unlooped the rope from the broom handle and sloped for the ground.

Ron passed by Draco in a quick decent. Draco snorted in scorn. Landing wasn’t a competition.

He sped up.

Harry appeared suddenly in front of Draco, causing him to pull up. “Potter!”

The owl flapped and alit on the front of the broom. Draco had to quickly compensate for the weight. He saw that Ron had beaten him to the ground. “Thanks a lot, Pot—”

Hermione’s shriek cut him off, and Draco stared at the empty spot Ron had occupied. Hermione fell forward onto the broom. Neville fluttered into the air. The broom crashed to the indiscernible ground, along with Hermione.

Hermione vanished.

Harry screeched and took flight. Neville flew down to where the broom lay. The backpack, rope, and map remained, as well. Neville perched on the bristles and began shapeshifting. He grew taller and larger swiftly, and found he was too big to stand on the end of a broom. His arms flailed as he lost his balance and fell backwards.

He hit the ground and disappeared.

Harry screeched again.

“Land the broom.” Pansy squeezed Draco’s sides. “Don’t you get it? When we touch the ground, we’ll be out of the book!”

Draco circled down and hovered near the backpack, but didn’t touch down. “Climb off, Pansy.”

Pansy slipped off the broom. “See you at ho—”

She vanished.

Draco rose somewhat, so he wouldn’t accidentally land. He raised his head. “Potter, come here!”

Harry swooped and grasped Draco’s arm with his claws, trying to lift him. Draco balanced delicately on the broom and caught his other arm around Harry. He hugged the bird close to his chest, as it struggled. “Are you off your nut? They went home, you twit. Pull yourself together!”

Harry started to grow suddenly in his arms. Draco barely had time to shift backwards on the broom before he had a fully-grown human practically straddling his lap. Harry blinked owlishly behind his glasses, nose-to-chin with Draco.

Draco sucked in a slow breath, his heart picking up speed. His arms were wrapped around Harry, hands splayed between his shoulder blades. Harry’s fingers were wrapped in the front of Draco’s shirt. Draco was drowning in Harry’s gaze. Harry licked his lips and tilted his chin. Draco felt drawn closer. The broom drifted lower. Harry’s breath caught as their noses brushed—

They disappeared.


	11. The Tome of Entrapment

_Then_

 

The black walls of Malfoy Manor shaded Draco from the hot July sun. He sat on the stone balustrade on the small balcony off his bedroom, his favourite place in the Manor, looking out over the expansive property towards the woods. The manicured green grass and thickly leaved trees stretched as far as he could see. The clear blue sky made for a perfect summer day, yet he wasn’t enjoying it. His mind was on other things.

Or rather, on one particular thing: Harry Potter.

Draco swung his foot back and forth, left leg hanging over the stone rail, dangling far above the ground. He should be enjoying his summer holiday. Sixth Year had finally ended and he had only one more year to go before he left Hogwarts. Then, he’d no longer have to see Harry every single day.

The thought was actually rather depressing. Draco didn’t like it.

Pansy said it was because he was in love with Potter, probably had been since he was eleven, and then laughed herself silly.

Draco scowled into the distance. Pansy was wrong. He couldn’t stand Harry Potter. Hadn’t he made Harry’s life miserable over the past six years? Granted, his participation in PRATS made things seem suspect, but really, he needed Harry to be alive and well in order to torture him. That didn’t mean that he fancied the gormless twit.

Right, so Harry was rather attractive, in a messy, four-eyed, freakish way, all short and firm and wiry and easy to hold down. Draco found plenty of blokes attractive, because he was _gay_ , not because he had feelings for them.

But if he did feel something for Harry, it was loathing and irritation. He fought with and tormented Harry whenever possible. The same went for Harry’s mates and he definitely didn’t fancy them. The difference was that if they met their end, Draco would be first to celebrate, whereas merely the thought of Harry being seriously injured or killed made him shrivel up inside in a rather bothersome manner.

Draco scraped his fingernails lightly against the stone balustrade between his legs. He watched glitter flecks sprinkle from the rail towards the ground. He supposed it was a bit different, too, in that picking on Harry was like sitting on the balcony: it was comfortable, secure, and he could enjoy himself. Taking the piss with anyone else was rather boring.

Sitting and mulling over what Pansy had said was also rather boring.

A black bird soared over the grounds, circling for prey. Draco watched as it swooped down, claws extended, and snatched something from the manicured lawn. The bird and its victim fought, and Draco imagined the squeals of pain and death and smiled as the bird took flight with a limp body in its claws.

Draco debated on whether or not to floo Vince and Greg and make them come and entertain him. His expression darkened. He’d wager they were busy with their girlfriends, like they’d done all Sixth Form, leaving him at ends. Thankfully, they thought he was having it off with Pansy, even while she dated other blokes, something he didn’t contradict. She was his excuse for PRATS meetings and why he wasn’t hooking up with other girls. His defence of being picky only went so far.

He cringed at the thought of them, or anyone, finding out he was bent. Bad enough that he trailed after Harry, saving him from physical danger and voluntarily associating with others in the Rescue Potter Brigade. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, ever, and he’d hex anyone who might suggest it, but he sort of liked and respected Neville Longbottom, too.

“Draco, are you out there?”

Draco jumped, startled, and nearly fell from the balcony. “Yes, Mother.”

He swung his leg over the rail and stood, as his mother came outside. She paused regally, surveying the land like a queen, her blond hair knotted in an intricate bun, woven with rubies. She turned her attention to Draco, her statuesque stature allowing her to look him in the eye.

“The Montagues are coming for tea. I expect you to join us.”

“I will,” Draco said.

Her pale eyes swept over his summer-weight robe. “And do change before you come down.”

“Yes, Mother.” Draco smoothed the front of his pale grey robe self-consciously.

His mother studied his face. “Are you all right, Draco? You’ve been in your room since you returned from Hogwarts. It isn’t because of what happened on the train?”

“No,” Draco replied truthfully, though he felt his cheeks heat. “I’m fine, Mother.”

She didn’t appear convinced, but let it drop. “Very well. I shall see you at tea time.”

Draco watched her leave and then sagged against the balcony rail. He needed to get things sorted if he didn’t want her to find out, or his father. Simply because he was in love with Potter—

Draco started, eyes growing wide, and then cursed everyone and everything, especially Pansy for putting the notion into his head. It wasn’t the truth, he refused to let it _be_ the truth, and even if it were, it wasn’t like he could do anything about it anyway.

Well, that part wasn’t true. He _was_ a Slytherin, and if he wanted to, he could make it happen. _If_ he wanted to – and he most certainly did _not_.

Draco looked out over the vast estate, but it gave him no comfort. Bloody hell. Now what should he do?

 

 

 _Now_

 

Draco stumbled and held on tight to something to stop from falling. He blinked rapidly, clearing the blinding white spots from his vision, and found Harry clutched closely to him. “Potter?”

Harry’s dark head tilted back to look up at him. A smile graced his features, causing Draco’s stomach to perform a slow flip. “We’re home.”

“Indeed you are, Harry,” Albus Dumbledore said, beaming at them from behind his desk.

Draco jerked, released Harry, and back-stepped rapidly. He stuck his nose in the air, crossed his arms, and scowled in general.

The sight of the Headmaster’s circular office was wonderful, though. Books and artefacts cluttered the shelves against the walls all the way up to the unseen ceiling. The rug swirled with colours beneath their feet. Fawkes, looking rather shabby, squawked from his perch. The portraits of past Headmasters had awakened and were talking with one another about the six students who’d appeared suddenly in the office. A clock on the wall indicated it was nearly six o’clock. On Dumbledore’s desk, the recognizable Tome of Entrapment sat open to the last page. As Draco watched, the book closed on its own.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Ron said. “It’s really good to see you.”

“I am pleased to see you all, as well,” Dumbledore said. “Though I had little doubt that you would find a way out of the Tome of Entrapment.”

Dumbledore turned and gestured with a sweep of his hand. Six hard-backed chairs appeared in a semi-circle behind the students. “Please, have a seat,” he said. Another chair appeared under him as he sat himself down. “I’m certain you have plenty you would like to share. Would any of you care for a lemon drop?”

“Oh, Professor, it was quite an experience,” Hermione said animatedly, as the lemon drops were passed around. Draco didn’t take sweets from barmy codgers in sparkling violet robes. “I’ve taken plenty of notes and- where’s the backpack?”

Ron face screwed up. “I don’t know. You were wearing it.”

“I saw it on the ground after you disappeared,” Pansy said.

Hermione appeared crestfallen. “I suppose I’ll have to recount by memory.”

And she did, from the moment she opened the Tome of Entrapment in the library until she touched the white ground. Draco thought it rather scary that she didn’t stop to take a breath the entire time. Harry, Ron, and Neville paid her no mind, glancing around with interest, although Harry appeared slightly angry for some reason. Draco didn’t know Pansy’s reaction because he refused to look at her.

“Then, we were suddenly here, in your office,” Hermione finished finally.

“That is quite a story, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said. “I am glad that you children made it out all right, though I had little doubt that you would.”

“Did you help us escape?” Harry said, somewhat tersely. It seemed to Draco that Harry did not want to be in Dumbledore’s office.

“I’m afraid I was unsuccessful in any attempts to assist you, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “In fact, it gave me quite a start when the book opened on its own and you six popped out.”

“There are others trapped in the book,” Neville said. “Besides the Death Eaters, I mean. We were lucky that Hermione figured out the way to escape, but what about the other people? We don’t have the map showing where they are anymore, either.”

“Do not be concerned, Mr. Longbottom. Now that the method of exiting the Tome of Entrapment has been deciphered, a team of Aurors can go in and liberate them.”

“What are you going to do with Scribner?” Ron asked.

“I’m afraid Philos Scribner is a troubled wizard,” Dumbledore began. “Although my best researcher was not here to assist us—” his eyes twinkled behind his half-moon glasses as he looked directly at Hermione, who blushed in pleased embarrassment, “—Madam Pince and I discovered that he originally created the Tome of Entrapment as a means to escape his overbearing family. He felt as though he had no control over his life and so he made a fantasy world where he had complete power. It was only by mistake that others entered the book. The first to be caught inside were members of his family. Imagine the supremacy he’d felt being the person in control of them.

“One of his brothers, a young wizard by the name of Anthos, was the only member of his family to escape to book after years of being tormented by Philos. His traumatic experience landed him in St. Mungo’s and what information the Mediwizards were able to extract from him was noted. However, he did not, or could not, reveal how he escaped.”

The clock on the wall suddenly made a clamour, and Draco jumped in his chair. A tiny door opened at the top of the chalet-shaped timepiece and the bell end of a flugelhorn emerged. It blared an upbeat tune before hitting six whole notes on a rising scale.

“Ah, dinnertime,” Dumbledore said. “The house elves are serving quail with mint sauce this evening and treacle pudding for dessert.”

“Good. I’m starved,” Ron said, and his stomach let out a rumble in agreement.

“I will not keep you any longer, then,” Dumbledore said, rising from his seat.

“How long have we been gone?” Harry asked.

“Today is Tuesday,” Dumbledore answered. “You have been missing since this past Friday evening.”

“Two days of lessons!” Hermione was aghast. “The amount of material we’ve missed will set us behind horribly on our revisions for the N.E.W.T.s. We have a lot of work to do.” She practically dragged Ron with her out of Dumbledore’s office, after Harry waved her off.

“One thing, sir,” Harry said. “How did the Tome of Entrapment get to be in the library?”

“Ah, as I am certain you will soon learn, Delores Umbridge was detained for using her powers as Chief Cataloguer at the Ministry to ‘borrow’ items from the Department of Mysteries,” Dumbledore said.

Harry glanced at the back of his hand with a dark expression.

“It would seem that the former Professor Umbridge sent the Tome of Entrapment to her nephew to pass on to you,” Dumbledore continued. “As he is only a Second Year, he did not witness the events that occurred during your Fifth Year and merely thought he was doing a favour for his aunt. However, the wrapped package disappeared from his dormitory and somehow ended up in the library, where I assume Mr. Longbottom found it.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled again in a rather frightening way, as he looked directly at Neville. Neville gulped and smiled timidly.

“Now, I’m sure your friends are waiting.”

Harry nodded and left the office, along with Neville.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Dumbledore said, as Draco and Pansy, whom Draco continued to snub, made to follow. Draco turned, nervousness setting in, and looked back at him. He merely smiled. “Happy eighteenth birthday.”

“Thank you, sir,” Draco responded automatically. Dumbledore inclined his head, and Draco left with Pansy following.

Neville waited in the empty corridor outside the Headmaster’s office when they emerged and the gargoyle guarding the door jumped back into place. Neville’s smile now was bright. “Pansy, may I escort you to the Great Hall for dinner?”

Draco saw as his ex-best friend’s cheeks flushed pink in pleasure. She dipped in a demure curtsey. “I’d be honoured.”

Neville offered his elbow and Pansy looped her hand through it. He looked at Draco. “PRATS meeting tomorrow night.”

“Brilliant,” Draco drawled flatly.

“Are you coming to dinner?” Pansy said.

Draco set his jaw. “I don’t eat with traitors.” Pansy looked heavenward and then urged Neville down the corridor, casting a _recrare_ spell as they rounded the corner.

“What was that all about?” he heard Neville ask.

“Draco being a tit. Would you like…” Pansy’s voice faded away.

Draco glowered down the corridor. She’d get hers, mark his word. He pivoted on his heel and stalked in the direction of his House. Yanking his shrunken robe, jumper, and tie from his pocket, he was surprised when something else fell out and clattered on the floor by his feet.

Bending over, Draco looked at it. It was the book stone Pansy had given him for his birthday.

“Malfoy—”

“ _Petrificus!_ ” Draco jumped, drew his wand, spun, and cast the spell in one startled instant.

Harry Potter gasped and cringed. The torch sconce on the wall above his head was hit with the spell-light and the flame froze.

“Potter, I told you not to sneak up on me.” Draco shoved his wand through his belt and looked angrily at him.

“You did,” Harry said, glancing up at the torch sconce. “Poor shot.”

Draco scowled. “Most wizards aren’t the size of house elves. What do you want?”

“What do you have in your hand?”

Draco frowned at the question. He opened his closed fist and looked down at the stone in his palm. He hadn’t realized he’d picked it up. “Not that it’s your business, but my book stone.”

“Really?” Harry closed the distance between them and took the stone without asking, quicker than Draco could snatch his hand away.   He glared as Harry turned it between his blunt fingers, exposing the Watcher rune carved into the polished surface. “The Aurors take applications all the way up to the N.E.W.T. exams.”

Draco stared at the mop of black hair on Harry’s down-turned head. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

“Hogwarts is ending, but I still have three more years of schooling.” Harry rubbed his thumb over the rune. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that appearances can be deceiving.” He looked up beneath his fringe at Draco. “It’s hard to make out who’s really got your back.”

Draco tensed. “You’ve gone spare. No, I’ve gone spare, being trapped with you for four days. I’m never going to get your stench out of my hair.”

“Portraits talk, Malfoy,” Harry said. “And being stuck with you for four days is why I’m doing this.”

“Doing what? Blithering on and on, like the Mudblood?”

Harry’s expression darkened. “You make things so difficult sometimes. No, all the time.”

“Good. Everything else is so bloody easy for the Boy Who Lived. Someone’s got to put you in your place,” Draco said. And as long as Harry wasn’t physically hurt, he deserved everything he got.

“If I didn’t know you were all bark, no bite, I wouldn’t bother.”

Draco bared his teeth menacingly. “I do, too, bite and rather hard.”

Harry laughed. Laughed! “You’re part of a group that _protects_ me from being injured. I think that rather says differently.”

Draco stiffened and glanced quickly up and down the empty corridor. “You better not have told anyone.”

“I haven’t,” Harry said. “Dumbledore already knew, which I found out when I questioned him about it, but I haven’t said anything to anyone else. Ron and Hermione wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

“That there are people protecting you?” Draco said.

“That _you_ are protecting me.” Harry glanced sidelong at him. “I’d like to know why, though.”

“I have my reasons and I’m not going to explain them to you.”

“I think I have a right to know.”

“You haven’t the right to anything,” Draco said. “We’re not friends, you don’t like me, and what I do in my spare time is none of your business.”

“ _I’m_ what you do in your spare time.” Harry’s cheeks reddened and he focused intently on the book stone in his hand. “I haven’t asked before now and I’m really curious.”

Draco’s own face felt hot. “You can stay curious, for all I care.”

“That’s just it, you do care.”

“I do _not_.”

“Admit it: you’re protecting the Boy Who Lived because you care about what happens with Voldemort.”

“Is that what you think?” Draco sneered, even as he winced at the name. “You don’t know anything at all. What You-Know-Who does means nothing to me regarding this.”

“It means something to everyone.”

“No, _you_ mean something to everyone.”

Harry smirked. “Even you?”

“Yesss,” Draco hissed, eyes narrowed into slits. “Is that what you wanted to hear, Potter? Are you satisfied knowing all my dirty, little secrets? Not only am I bent, but it’s _you_ that flicks my wand. Is there anything else you’d like to know, like does my father beat me or my mother put me in dresses for tea?”

Harry stared, stunned. “Do they?”

“ _No_.”

Appalled by his own outburst, Draco drew himself up imperiously and prepared to flee. “If we’re done.”

Harry nodded slowly and held out the stone. “Here.”

Draco wanted to bat it away, but it was _his_ birthday gift, even though it had been picked out by Harry and given to him by that betraying wench. He lifted his hand. 

Instead of dropping the book stone into his hand, Harry pressed it into his palm. He titled his head slightly as he met Draco’s gaze. “I’ll save you a seat, then.”

“Come again?” Draco’s response sounded far away to himself. Harry’s fingers lingered over the stone, his hand warm against Draco’s. He couldn’t look away from Harry’s eyes, which were large and dark and intense behind his glasses, staring steadily back at him. His pulse thrummed under his skin. A coil of pleasure unwound in his stomach.

Slowly, almost as if he weren’t moving at all, Harry rose up and forward on his toes. As if pulled by invisible strings, Draco leaned down and his head lowered. His breath hitched as Harry lifted his chin, just before their lips met.

Petrified, Draco didn’t move, his mouth resting firmly against Harry’s in a dry kiss. Harry’s lips were chapped, like his. Hot air prickled his upper lip as Harry breathed heavily through his nostrils. The edge of Harry’s spectacles pressed against the bridge of his nose. The fall of his hair drew blurred lines in his vision, his eyes still locked on Harry’s.

Harry wobbled suddenly, unbalanced on his toes, and he grasped Draco’s hand, causing Draco to start and draw back. Harry’s heels smacked on the stone floor, his eyes as wide as saucers behind his glasses.

Draco could only blink at him.

Harry licked his lips. His fingers drew across Draco’s hand, tickling it, as he backed away unsteadily. He bumped the wall, jumped, and laughed nervously after a glance over his shoulder. “Um, I haven’t told anyone, either.”

His hand came up and touched his mouth, before dropping swiftly. He spun on his heel and fled.

Draco stood and stared at the spot Harry had been for a long, long moment, as a balloon blew up larger and larger inside his chest. Harry had kissed him!

Then, instead of falling all over Draco, he’d said something about not telling anyone, which didn’t make any sense. What hadn’t he told anyone about? Snogging blokes in the— _oh_.

Maybe he owed Pansy an apology. Not that he ever apologized to anyone.

Draco looked at the book stone in his hand, tossed it in the air, and caught it again. Laughing delightfully, he tucked it in his pocket and strutted to the Slytherin dorms.

Harry had made the first move.

Now, what Draco was going to do about it… well–

A sly smile spread across his face.

– that was a different story.

 

 

**End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?keyword=DMTE+Deleted+Scenes&user=sabershadowkat&sortby=des

**Author's Note:**

> Find deleted scenes at the url for this story.


End file.
